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THE COMPLETE WRITINGS OF 
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 

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WITH PORTRAITS, ILLUSTRATIONS, AND FACSIMILES 
IN TWENTY-TWO VOLUMES 


VOLUME XV 















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WRITINGS OF 
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DOCTOR GRIMSHA*WE’S 
SECRET""' ‘ 


A ROMANCE 

BY 

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 


EDITED, WITH PREFACE AND NOTES 
By JUUAN HAWTHORNE 



BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 


MDCCCC 




EDITOR’S PREFACE 


A PREFACE generally begins with a truism; and 
I may set out with the admission that it is not 
always expedient to bring to light the posthu¬ 
mous work of great writers. A man generally 
contrives to publish, during his lifetime, quite as 
much as the public has time or inclination to 
read; and his surviving friends are apt to show 
more zeal than discretion in dragging forth from 
his closed desk such undeveloped offspring of 
his mind as he himself had left to silence. Lit¬ 
erature has never been redundant with authors 
who sincerely undervalue their own productions; 
and the sagacious critics who maintain that 
what of his own an author condemns must be 
doubly damnable, are, to say the least of it, as 
often likely to be right as wrong. 

Beyond these general remarks, however, it 
does not seem necessary to adopt an apologetic 
attitude. There is nothing in the present vol¬ 
ume which any one possessed of brains and 
cultivation will not be thankful to read. The 
appreciation of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s writings 
is more intelligent and widespread than it used 
to be; and the later development of our national 
literature has not, perhaps, so entirely exhausted 
vii 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

our resources of admiration as to leave no wel¬ 
come for even the less elaborate work of a 
contemporary of Dickens and Thackeray. As 
regards Doctor Grimshawe s Secrety — the title 
which, for lack of a better, has been given to 
this Romance,—it can scarcely be pronounced 
deficient in either elaboration or profundity. 
Had Mr. Hawthorne written out the story in 
every part to its full dimensions, it could not 
have failed to rank among the greatest of his 
productions. He had looked forward to it as 
to the crowning achievement of his literary career. 
In the Preface to Our Old Home he alludes to 
it as a work into which he proposed to convey 
more of various modes of truth than he could 
have grasped by a direct effort. But circum¬ 
stances prevented him from perfecting the de¬ 
sign which had been before his mind for seven 
years, and upon the shaping of which he be¬ 
stowed more thought and labor than upon any¬ 
thing else he had undertaken. The successive 
and consecutive series of notes or studies^ which 
he wrote for this Romance would of themselves 
make a small volume, and one of autobiogra¬ 
phical as well as literary interest. There is no 

1 These studies, extracts from which will be published in one of our maga¬ 
zines, are hereafter to be added, in their complete form, to the Appendix of 
this volume. [The studies, thus referred to, have appeared thus far in the 
Century Maga%tne for January, 1883, imder the title “ A Look into Haw¬ 
thorne’s Workshop,” and in Lippincott's Maga%ine for January, 1890, 
under the title “ The Elixir of Life.”] 

viii 


EDITOR’S PREFACE 

other instance, that I happen to have met with, 
in which a writer’s thought reflects itself upon 
paper so immediately and sensitively as in these 
studies. To read them is to look into the man’s 
mind, and see its quality and action. The pen¬ 
etration, the subtlety, the tenacity; the stubborn 
gripe which he lays upon his subject, like that 
of Hercules upon the slippery Old Man of the 
Sea; the clear and cool common-sense, controll¬ 
ing the audacity of a rich and ardent imagina¬ 
tion ; the humorous gibes and strange expletives 
wherewith he ridicules, to himself, his own fail¬ 
ure to reach his goal; the immense patience 
with which — again and again, and yet again 
— he “ tries back,” throwing the topic into fresh 
attitudes, and searching it to the marrow with a 
gaze so piercing as to be terrible ; — all this 
gives an impression of’ power, of resource, of 
energy, of mastery, that exhilarates the reader. 
So many inspired prophets of Hawthorne have 
arisen of late, that the present writer, whose 
relation to the great Romancer is a filial one 
merely, may be excused for feeling some em¬ 
barrassment in submitting his own uninstructed 
judgments to competition with theirs. It has 
occurred to him, however, that these undress 
rehearsals of the author of The Scarlet Letter 
might afford entertaining and even profitable 
reading to the later generation of writers whose 
pleasant fortune it is to charm one another and 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

the public. It would appear that this author, 
in his preparatory work at least, has ventured 
in some manner to disregard the modern canons 
which debar writers from betraying towards 
their creations any warmer feeling than a cul¬ 
tured and critical indifference ; nor was his in¬ 
terest in human nature such as to confine him 
to the dissection of the moral epidermis of shop¬ 
girls and hotel-boarders. On the contrary, we 
are presented with the spectacle of a Titan, 
baring his arms and plunging heart and soul 
into the arena, there to struggle for death or 
victory with the superb phantoms summoned 
to the conflict by his own genius. The men 
of new times and new conditions will achieve 
their triumphs in new ways; but it may still be 
worth while to consider the methods and mate¬ 
rials of one who also, in his own fashion, won 
and wore the laurel of those who know and can 
portray the human heart. 

But let us return to the Romance, in whose 
clear though shadowy atmosphere the thunders 
and throes of the preparatory struggle are in¬ 
audible and invisible, save as they are implied 
in the fineness of substance and beauty of form 
of the artistic structure. The story is divided 
into two parts, the scene of the first being laid 
in America; that of the second, in England. 
Internal evidence of various kinds goes to show 
that the second part was the first written ; or, in 


EDITOR’S PREFACE 


other words, that the present first part is a re¬ 
writing of an original first part, afterwards dis¬ 
carded, and of which the existing second part 
is the continuation. The two parts overlap, 
and it shall be left to the ingenuity of critics to 
detect the precise point of junction. In rewrit¬ 
ing the first part, the author made sundry minor 
alterations in the plot and characters of the 
story, which alterations were not carried into 
the second part. It results from this that the 
manuscript presents various apparent inconsist¬ 
encies. In transcribing the work for the press, 
these inconsistent sentences and passages have 
been withdrawn from the text and inserted in 
the Appendix; or, in a few unimportant in¬ 
stances, omitted altogether. In other respects, 
the text is printed as the author left it, with the 
exception of the names of the characters. In 
the manuscript each personage figures in the 
course of the narrative under from three to six 
different names. This difficulty has been met 
by bestowing upon each of the dramatis per¬ 
sonae the name which last identified him to the 
author’s mind, and keeping him to it through¬ 
out the volume. 

The story, as a story, is complete as it stands ; 
it has a beginning, a middle, and an end. There 
is no break in the narrative, and the legitimate 
conclusion is reached. To say that the story is 
complete as a work of art, would be quite an- 
xi 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

other matter. It lacks balance and proportion. 
Some characters and incidents are portrayed 
with minute elaboration ; others, perhaps not 
less important, are merely sketched in outline. 
Beyond a doubt it was the author’s purpose to 
rewrite the entire work from the first page to 
the last, enlarging it, deepening it, adorning it 
with every kind of spiritual and physical beauty, 
and rounding out a moral worthy of the noble 
materials. But these last transfiguring touches 
to Aladdin’s Tower were never to be given ; 
and he has departed, taking with him his Won¬ 
derful Lamp. Nevertheless there is great splen¬ 
dor in the structure as we behold it. The 
character of old Doctor Grimshawe, and the 
picture of his surroundings, are hardly sur¬ 
passed in vigor by anything their author has 
produced ; and the dusky vision of the secret 
chamber, which sends a mysterious shiver 
through the tale, seems to be unique even in 
Hawthorne. 

There have been included in this volume 
photographic reproductions of certain pages of 
the original manuscript of Doctor Grimshawe^ 
selected at random, upon which those ingenious 
persons whose convictions are in advance of 
their instruction are cordially invited to try their 
teeth; for it has been maintained that Mr. 
Hawthorne’s handwriting was singularly legible, 
xii 


EDITOR’S PREFACE 


The present writer possesses specimens of Mr. 
Hawthorne’s chirography at various ages, from 
boyhood until a day or two before his death. 
Like the handwriting of most men, it was at its 
best between the twenty-fifth and the fortieth 
years of life; and in some instances it is a re¬ 
markably beautiful type of penmanship. But 
as time went on it deteriorated, and, while of 
course retaining its elementary characteristics, it 
became less and less easy to read, especially in 
those writings which were intended solely for his 
own perusal. As with other men of sensitive 
organization, the mood of the hour, a good or 
a bad pen, a ready or an obstructed flow of 
thought, would all be reflected in the formation 
of the written letters and words. In the manu¬ 
script of the fragmentary sketch which has just 
been published in a magazine, which is written 
in an ordinary commonplace book, with ruled 
pages, and in which the author had not yet be¬ 
come possessed with the spirit of the story and 
characters, the handwriting is deliberate and 
clear. In the manuscript of Doctor Grimshawe s 
Secret^ on the other hand, which was written 
almost immediately after the other, but on un¬ 
ruled paper, and when the writer’s imagination 
was warm and eager, the chirography is for the 
most part a compact mass of minute cramped 
hieroglyphics, hardly to be deciphered save by 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


flashes of inspiration. The matter is not, in 
itself, of importance, and is alluded to here 
only as having been brought forward in con¬ 
nection with other insinuations, with the notice 
of which it seems unnecessary to soil these 
pages. Indeed, were I otherwise disposed. Doc¬ 
tor Grimshawe himself would take the words 
out of my mouth; his speech is far more poign¬ 
ant and eloquent than mine. In dismissing 
this episode, I will take the liberty to observe 
that it appears to indicate a spirit in our age 
less sceptical than is commonly supposed,— 
belief in miracles being still possible, provided 
only the miracle be a scandalous one. 

It remains to tell how this Romance came to 
be published. It came into my possession (in 
the ordinary course of events) about eight years 
ago. I had at that time no intention of pub¬ 
lishing it; and when, soon after, I left England 
to travel on the Continent, the manuscript, to¬ 
gether with the bulk of my library, was packed 
and stored at a London repository, and was not 
again seen by me until last summer, when I 
unpacked it in this city. I then finished the 
perusal of it, and, finding it to be practically 
complete, I re-resolved to print it in connection 
with a biography of Mr. Hawthorne which I 
had in preparation. But upon further consid¬ 
eration it was decided to publish the Romance 
xiv 


EDITOR’S PREFACE 


separately; and I herewith present it to the 
public, with my best wishes for their edifica¬ 
tion. 

Julian Ha'^thorne. 

New York, November 21, 1882. 

XV 






LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

“There is blood on that threshold!” 

(page 309) .... Frederick McCormick 

Frontispiece 

Vignette on Engraved Title-page 

Frederick McCormick 

“There he goes, the old spider-witch ! ” 

Frederick McCormick 56 
Leaving the House . Frederick McCormick 132 
“We have recognized each other” 

Frederick McCormick 312 
In half frolic Redclyffe took the chair 

Frederick McCormick 356 


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DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S 
SECRET 


CHAPTER I 

A long time ago,^ in a town with which 
I used to be familiarly acquainted, there 
dwelt an elderly person of grim aspect, 

• known by the name and title of Doctor Grim- 
shawe,^ whose household consisted of a remark¬ 
ably pretty and vivacious boy, and a perfect 
rosebud of a girl, two or three years younger 
than he, and an old maid of all work, of 
strangely mixed breed, crusty in temper and 
wonderfully sluttish in attire.^ It might be 
partly owing to this handmaiden’s characteristic 
lack of neatness (though primarily, no doubt, 
to the grim Doctor’s antipathy to broom, brush, 
and dusting cloths) that the house — at least in 
such portions of it as any casual visitor caught 
a glimpse of — was so overlaid with dust, that, 
in lack of a visiting card, you might write your 
name with your forefinger upon the tables ; and 
so hung with cobwebs, that they assumed the 
appearance of dusky upholstery. 

It grieves me to add an additional touch or 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

two to the reader s disagreeable impression of 
Doctor Grimshawe’s residence, by confessing 
that it stood in a shabby by-street, and cornered 
on a graveyard, with which the house commu¬ 
nicated by a back door; so that with a hop, 
skip, and jump from the threshold, across a flat 
tombstone, the two children ^ were in the daily 
habit of using the dismal cemetery as their 
playground. In their graver moods they spelled 
out the names and learned by heart doleful 
verses on the headstones; and in their merrier 
ones (which were much the more frequent) 
they chased butterflies and gathered dandelions, 
played hide and seek among the slate and 
marble, and tumbled laughing over the grassy 
mounds which were too eminent for the short 
legs to bestride. On the whole, they were the 
better for the graveyard, and its legitimate in¬ 
mates slept none the worse for the two chil¬ 
dren's gambols and shrill merriment overhead. 
Here were old brick tombs with curious sculp¬ 
tures on them, and quaint gravestones, some of 
which bore puffy little cherubs, and one or two 
others the effigies of eminent Puritans, wrought 
out to a button, a fold of the ruff, and a wrinkle 
of the skullcap; and these frowned upon the 
two children as if death had not made them a 
whit more genial than they were in life. But 
the children were of a temper to be more en¬ 
couraged by the good-natured smiles of the 
2 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


puffy cherubs, than frightened or disturbed by 
the sour Puritans. 

This graveyard (about which we shall say not 
a word more than may sooner or later be need¬ 
ful) was the most ancient in the town. The 
clay of the original settlers had been incor¬ 
porated with the soil; those stalwart English¬ 
men of the Puritan epoch, whose immediate 
ancestors had been planted forth with succulent 
grass and daisies for the sustenance of the par¬ 
son’s cow, round the low-battlemented Norman 
church towers in the villages of the fatherland, 
had here contributed their rich Saxon mould to 
tame and Christianize the wild forest earth of 
the New World. In this point of view — as 
holding the bones and dust of the primeval an¬ 
cestor — the cemetery was more English than 
anything else in the neighborhood, and might 
probably have nourished English oaks and Eng¬ 
lish elms, and whatever else is of English 
growth, without that tendency to spindle up¬ 
wards and lose their sturdy breadth, which is 
said to be the ordinary characteristic both of 
human and vegetable productions when trans¬ 
planted hither. Here, at all events, used to 
be some specimens of common English garden 
flowers, which could not be accounted for, — 
unless, perhaps, they had sprung from some 
English maiden’s heart, where the intense love 
of those homely things, and regret of them in 
3 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


the foreign land, had conspired together to keep 
their vivifying principle, and cause its growth 
after the poor girl was buried. Be that as it 
might, in this grave had been hidden from sight 
many a broad, bluff visage of husbandman, who 
had been taught to plough among the heredi¬ 
tary furrows that had been ameliorated by the 
crumble of ages: much had these sturdy la¬ 
borers grumbled at the great roots that ob¬ 
structed their toil in these fresh acres. Here, 
too, the sods had covered the faces of men 
known to history, and reverenced when not a 
piece of distinguishable dust remained of them ; 
personages whom tradition told about; and 
here, mixed up with successive crops of native- 
born Americans, had been ministers, captains, 
matrons, virgins good and evil, tough and ten¬ 
der, turned up and battened down by the sex¬ 
ton’s spade, over and over again; until every 
blade of grass had its relations with the human 
brotherhood of the old town. A hundred and 
fifty years was sufficient to do this ; and so much 
time, at least, had elapsed since the first hole 
was dug among the difficult roots of the forest 
trees, and the first little hillock of all these green 
beds was piled up. 

Thus rippled and surged, with its hundreds 
of little billows, the old graveyard about the 
house which cornered upon it; it made the 
street gloomy, so that people did not altogether 

4 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

like to pass along the high wooden fence that 
shut it in; and the old house itself, covering 
ground which else had been sown thickly with 
buried bodies, partook of its dreariness, be¬ 
cause it seemed hardly possible that the dead 
people should not get up out of their graves 
and steal in to warm themselves at this con¬ 
venient fireside. But I never heard that any of 
them did so ; nor were the children ever startled 
by spectacles of dim horror in the night-time, 
but were as cheerful and fearless as if no grave 
had ever been dug. They were of that class of 
children whose material seems fresh, not taken 
at second hand, full of disease, conceits, whims, 
and weaknesses, that have already served many 
people’s turns, and been moulded up, with some 
little change of combination, to serve the turn 
of some poor spirit that could not get a better 
case. 

So far as ever came to the present writer’s 
knowledge, there was no whisper of Doctor 
Grimshawe’s house being haunted; a fact on 
which both writer and reader may congratulate 
themselves, the ghostly chord having been played 
upon in these days until it has become weari¬ 
some and nauseous as the familiar tune of a bar¬ 
rel organ. The house itself, moreover, except 
for the convenience of its position close to the 
seldom disturbed cemetery, was hardly worthy 
to be haunted. As I remember it (and for 
5 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 

aught I know it still exists in the same guise), 
it did not appear to be an ancient structure, nor 
one that would ever have been the abode of a 
very wealthy or prominent family ; — a three- 
story wooden house, perhaps a century old, low- 
studded, with a square front, standing right 
upon the street, and a small enclosed porch, con¬ 
taining the main entrance, affording a glimpse 
up and down the street through an oval window 
on each side, its characteristic was decent re¬ 
spectability, not sinking below the boundary of 
the genteel. It has often perplexed my mind 
to conjecture what sort of man he could have 
been who, having the means to build a pretty, 
spacious, and comfortable residence, should have 
chosen to lay its foundation on the brink of so 
many graves ; each tenant of these narrow houses 
crying out, as it were, against the absurdity of 
bestowing much time or pains in preparing any 
earthly tabernacle save such as theirs. But de¬ 
ceased people see matters from an erroneous — 
at least too exclusive — point of view ; a com¬ 
fortable grave is an excellent possession for those 
who need it, but a comfortable house has like¬ 
wise its merits and temporary advantages.® 

The founder of the house in question seemed 
sensible of this truth, and had therefore been care¬ 
ful to lay out a sufficient number of rooms and 
chambers, low, ill lighted, ugly, but not unsus¬ 
ceptible of warmth and comfort; the sunniest 
6 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


and cheerfulest of which were on the side that 
looked into the graveyard. Of these, the one 
most spacious and convenient had been selected 
by Doctor Grimshawe as a study, and fitted up 
with bookshelves, and various machines and 
contrivances, electrical, chemical, and distilla¬ 
tory, wherewith he might pursue such researches 
as were wont to engage his attention. The great 
result of the grim Doctor’s labors, so far as 
known to the public, was a certain preparation 
or extract of cobwebs, which, out of a great abun¬ 
dance of material, he was able to produce in any 
desirable quantity, and by the administration 
of which he professed to cure diseases of the 
inflammatory class, and to work very wonderful 
effects upon the human system. It is a great 
pity, for the good of mankind and the advantage 
of his own fortunes, that he did not put forth 
this medicine in pill boxes or bottles, and then, 
as it were, by some captivating title, inveigle 
the public into his spider’s web, and suck out 
its gold substance, and himself wax fat as he sat 
in the central intricacy. 

But grim Doctor Grimshawe, though his aim 
in life might be no very exalted one, seemed sin¬ 
gularly destitute of the impulse to better his 
fortunes by the exercise of his wits : it might 
even have been supposed, indeed, that he had 
a conscientious principle or religious scruple — 
only, he was by no means a religious man — 
7 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

against reaping profit from this particular nos¬ 
trum which he was said to have invented. He 
never sold it; never prescribed it, unless in 
cases selected on some principle that nobody 
could detect or explain. The grim Doctor, it 
must be observed, was not generally acknow¬ 
ledged by the profession, with whom, in truth, 
he had never claimed a fellowship ; nor had he 
ever assumed of his own accord the medical title 
by which the public chose to know him. His 
professional practice seemed, in a sort, forced 
upon him ; it grew pretty extensive, partly be¬ 
cause it was understood to be a matter of favor 
and difficulty, dependent on a capricious will, to 
obtain his services at all. There was unques¬ 
tionably an odor of quackery about him; but 
by no means of an ordinary kind. A sort of 
mystery — yet which, perhaps, need not have 
been a mystery, had any one thought it worth 
while to make systematic inquiry in reference 
to his previous life, his education, even his na¬ 
tive land — assisted the impression which his 
peculiarities were calculated to make. He was 
evidently not a New Englander, nor a native 
of any part of these Western shores. His 
speech was apt to be oddly and uncouthly idio¬ 
matic, and even when classical in its form was 
emitted with a strange, rough depth of utter¬ 
ance, that came from recesses of the lungs which 
we Yankees seldom put to any use. In person, 
8 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

he did not look like one of us : a broad, rather 
short personage, with a projecting forehead, a 
red, irregular face, and a squab nose ; eyes that 
looked dull enough in their ordinary state, but 
had a faculty, in conjunction with the other 
features, which those who had ever seen it de¬ 
scribed as especially ugly and awful. As re¬ 
garded dress. Doctor Grimshawe had a rough 
and careless exterior, and altogether a shaggy 
kind of aspect, the effect of which was much in¬ 
creased by a reddish beard, which, contrary to 
the usual custom of the day, he allowed to grow 
profusely, and the wiry perversity of which 
seemed to know as little of the comb as of the 
razor. 

We began with calling the grim Doctor an 
elderly personage; but in so doing we looked 
at him through the eyes of the two children, 
who were his intimates, and who had not learnt 
to decipher the purport and value of his wrin¬ 
kles and furrows and corrugations, whether as 
indicating age, or a different kind of wear and 
tear. Possibly — he seemed so aggressive and 
had such latent heat and force to throw out 
when occasion called — he might scarcely have 
seemed middle-aged; though here again we 
hesitate, finding him so stiffened in his own 
way, so little fluid, so encrusted with passions 
and humors, that he must have left his youth 
very far behind him, if indeed he ever had any. 
9 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


The patients, or whatever other visitors were 
ever admitted into the Doctor's study, carried 
abroad strange accounts of the squalor of dust 
and cobwebs in which the learned and scientific 
person lived; and the dust, they averred, was 
all the more disagreeable, because it could not 
well be other than dead men's almost intangi¬ 
ble atoms, resurrected from the adjoining grave¬ 
yard. As for the cobwebs, they were no signs 
of housewifely neglect on the part of crusty 
Hannah, the handmaiden; but the Doctor's 
scientific material, carefully encouraged and pre¬ 
served, each filmy thread more valuable to him 
than so much golden wire. Of all barbarous 
haunts in Christendom or elsewhere, this study 
was the one most overrun with spiders. Thfey 
dangled from the ceiling, crept upon the tables, 
lurked in the corners, and wove the intricacy of 
their webs wherever they could hitch the end 
from point to point across the window panes, 
and even across the upper part of the doorway, 
and in the chimney place. It seemed impos¬ 
sible to move without breaking some of these 
mystic threads. Spiders crept familiarly towards 
you and walked leisurely across your hands; 
these were their precincts, and you only an in¬ 
truder. If you had none about your person, 
yet you had an odious sense of one crawling up 
your spine, or spinning cobwebs in your brain, 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


— so pervaded was the atmosphere of the place 
with spider life. What they fed upon (for all 
the flies for miles about would not have sufficed 
them) was a secret known only to the Doctor. 
Whence they came was another riddle; though, 
from certain inquiries and transactions of Doc¬ 
tor Grimshawe's with some of the shipmasters 
of the port, who followed the East and West 
Indian, the African and the South American 
trade, it was supposed that this odd philosopher 
was in the habit of importing choice monstrosi¬ 
ties in the spider kind from all those tropic 
regions.® 

All the above description, exaggerated as it 
may seem, is merely preliminary to the intro¬ 
duction of one single enormous spider, the big¬ 
gest and ugliest ever seen, the pride of the grim 
Doctor's heart, his treasure, his glory, the pearl 
of his soul, and, as many people said, the 
demon to whom he had sold his salvation, on 
condition of possessing the web of the foul 
creature for a certain number of years. The 
grim Doctor, according to this theory, was but 
a great fly which this spider had subtly entan¬ 
gled in his web. But, in truth, naturalists are 
acquainted with this spider, though it is a rare 
one; the British Museum has a specimen, and, 
doubtless, so have many other scientific institu¬ 
tions. It is found in South America ; its most 

II 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


hideous spread of legs covers a space nearly as 
large as a dinner plate, and radiates from a body 
as big as a door-knob, which one conceives to 
be an agglomeration of sucked-up poison which 
the creature treasures through life; probably to 
expend it all, and life itself, on some worthy 
foe. Its colors, variegated in a sort of ugly 
and inauspicious splendor, were distributed over 
its vast bulb in great spots, some of which glis¬ 
tened like gems. It was a horror to think of 
this thing living; still more horrible to think 
of the foul catastrophe, the crushed-out and 
wasted poison, that would follow the casual set¬ 
ting foot upon it. 

No doubt, the lapse of time since the Doc¬ 
tor and his spider lived has already been suf¬ 
ficient to cause a traditionary wonderment to 
gather over them both; and, especially, this 
image of the spider dangles down to us from 
the dusky ceiling of the Past, swollen into 
somewhat uglier and huger monstrosity than he 
actually possessed. Nevertheless, the creature 
had a real existence, and has left kindred like 
himself; but as for the Doctor, nothing could 
exceed the value which he seemed to put upon 
him, the sacrifices he made for the creature’s 
convenience, or the readiness with which he 
adapted his whole mode of life, apparently, so 
that the spider might enjoy the conditions best 
suited to his tastes, habits, and health. And 
12 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

yet there were sometimes tokens that made peo¬ 
ple imagine that he hated the infernal creature 
as much as everybody else who caught a glimpse 
of himJ 

13 


CHAPTER II 


C ONSIDERING that Doctor Grim- 
shawe, when we first look upon him, 
had dwelt only a few years in the house 
by the graveyard, it is wonderful what an ap¬ 
pearance he, and his furniture, and his cobwebs, 
and their unweariable spinners, and crusty old 
Hannah, all had of having permanently at¬ 
tached themselves to the locality. For a cen¬ 
tury, at least, it might be fancied that the study 
in particular had existed just as it was now; 
with those dusky festoons of spider silk hang¬ 
ing along the walls, those bookcases with vol¬ 
umes turning their parchment or black-leather 
backs upon you, those machines and engines, 
that table, and at it the Doctor, in a very faded 
and shabby dressing gown, smoking a long clay 
pipe, the powerful fumes of which dwelt con¬ 
tinually in his reddish and grisly beard, and 
made him fragrant wherever he went. This 
sense of fixedness — stony intractability— seems 
to belong to people who, instead of hope, which 
exalts everything into an airy, gaseous exhilara¬ 
tion, have a fixed and dogged purpose, around 
which everything congeals and crystallizes.^ 
Even the sunshine, dim through the dustiness 
H 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


of the two casements that looked upon the 
graveyard, and the smoke, as it came warm out 
of Doctor Grimshawe's mouth, seemed already 
stale. But if the two children, or either of 
them, happened to be in the study, — if they 
ran to open the door at the knock, if they came 
scampering and peeped down over the banis¬ 
ters, — the sordid and rusty gloom was apt to 
vanish quite away. The sunbeam itself looked 
like a golden rule, that had been flung down 
long ago, and had lain there till it was dusty 
and tarnished. They were cheery little imps, 
who sucked up fragrance and pleasantness out 
of their surroundings, dreary as these looked; 
even as a flower can find its proper perfume in 
any soil where its seed happens to fall. The 
great spider, hanging by his cordage over the 
Doctor’s head, and waving slowly, like a pen¬ 
dulum, in a blast from the crack of the door, 
must have made millions and millions of pre¬ 
cisely such vibrations as these ; but the children 
were new, and made over every day, with yes¬ 
terday’s weariness left out. 

The little girl, however, was the merrier of 
the two. It was quite unintelligible, in view 
of the little care that crusty Hannah took of 
her, and, moreover, since she was none of your 
prim, fastidious children, how daintily she kept 
herself amid all this dust; how the spiders’ webs 
never clung to her, and how, when — without 

15 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


being solicited — she clambered into the Doc¬ 
tor’s arms and kissed him, she bore away no 
smoky reminiscences of the pipe that he kissed 
continually. She had a free, mellow, natural 
laughter, that seemed the ripened fruit of the 
smile that was generally on her little face, to be 
shaken off and scattered abroad by any breeze 
that came along. Little Elsie made playthings 
of everything, even of the grim Doctor, though 
against his will, and though, moreover, there 
were tokens now and then that the sight of 
this bright little creature was not a pleasure to 
him, but, on the contrary, a positive pain ; a 
pain, nevertheless, indicating a profound inter¬ 
est, hardly less deep than though Elsie had been 
his daughter. 

Elsie did not play with the great spider, but 
she moved among the whole brood of spiders as 
if she saw them not, and, being endowed with 
other senses than those allied to these things, 
might coexist with them and not be sensible of 
their presence. Yet the child, I suppose, had 
her crying fits, and her pouting fits, and naugh¬ 
tiness enough to entitle her to live on earth; 
at least crusty Hannah often said so, and often 
made grievous complaint of disobedience, mis¬ 
chief, or breakage, attributable to little Elsie; 
to which the grim Doctor seldom responded by 
anything more intelligible than a puff of to¬ 
bacco smoke, and, sometimes, an imprecation ; 

i6 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 

which, however, hit crusty Hannah instead of 
the child. Where the child got the tenderness 
that a child needs to live upon is a mystery to 
me ; perhaps from some aged or dead mother, 
or in her dreams ; perhaps from some small 
modicum of it, such as boys have, from the 
little boy; or perhaps it was from a Persian kit¬ 
ten, which had grown to be a cat in her arms, 
and slept in her little bed, and now assumed 
grave and protective airs towards her former 
playmate.^ 

The boy,^ as we have said, was two or three 
years Elsie's elder, and might now be about six 
years old. He was a healthy and cheerful child, 
yet of a graver mood than the little girl, ap¬ 
pearing to lay a more forcible grasp on the 
circumstances about him, and to tread with a 
heavier footstep on the solid earth ; yet perhaps 
not more so than was the necessary difference be¬ 
tween a man-blossom, dimly conscious of com¬ 
ing things, and a mere baby, with whom there 
was neither past nor future. Ned, as he was 
named, was subject very early to fits of musing, 
the subject of which — if they had any definite 
subject, or were more than vague reveries — it 
was impossible to guess. They were of those 
states of mind, probably, which are beyond the 
sphere of human language, and would necessa¬ 
rily lose their essence in the attempt to commu¬ 
nicate or record them. The little girl, perhaps, 

17 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 

had some mode of sympathy with these unut¬ 
tered thoughts or reveries, which grown people 
had ceased to have; at all events, she early 
learned to respect them, and, at other times as 
free and playful as her Persian kitten, she never 
in such circumstances ventured on any greater 
freedom than to sit down quietly beside him, 
and endeavor to look as thoughtful as the boy 
himself 

Once, slowly emerging from one of these 
waking reveries, little Ned gazed about him, and 
saw Elsie sitting with this pretty pretence of 
thoughtfulness and dreaminess in her little chair, 
close beside him ; now and then peeping under 
her eyelashes to note what changes might come 
over his face. After looking at her a moment 
or two, he quietly took her willing and warm 
little hand in his own, and led her up to the 
Doctor. 

The group, methinks, must have been a pic¬ 
turesque one, made up as it was of several 
apparently discordant elements, each of which 
happened to be so combined as to make a more 
effective whole. The beautiful grave boy, with 
a little sword by his side and a feather in his 
hat, of a brown complexion, slender, with his 
white brow and dark, thoughtful eyes, so ear¬ 
nest upon some mysterious theme; the prettier 
little girl, a blonde, round, rosy, so truly sym¬ 
pathetic with her companion's mood, yet un- 

i8 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


consciously turning all to sport by her attempt 
to assume one similar; — these two standing 
at the grim Doctor’s footstool; he meanwhile, 
black, wild-bearded, heavy-browed, red-eyed, 
wrapped in his faded dressing gown, puffing out 
volumes of vapor from his long pipe, and mak- 
ing, just at that instant, application to a tum¬ 
bler, which, we regret to say, was generally at 
his elbow, with some dark-colored potation in 
it that required to be frequently replenished 
from a neighboring black bottle. Half, at least, 
of the fluids in the grim Doctor’s system must 
have been derived from that same black bottle, 
so constant was his familiarity with its contents; 
and yet his eyes were never redder at one time 
than another, nor his utterance thicker, nor his 
mood perceptibly the brighter or the duller for 
all his conviviality. It is true, when, once, the 
bottle happened to be empty for a whole day 
together. Doctor Grimshawe was observed by 
crusty Hannah and by the children to be con¬ 
siderably fiercer than usual; so that probably, 
by some maladjustment of consequences, his in¬ 
temperance was only to be found in refraining 
from brandy. 

Nor must we forget — in attempting to con¬ 
ceive the effect of these two beautiful children 
in such a sombre room, looking on the grave¬ 
yard, and contrasted with the grim Doctor’s as¬ 
pect of heavy and smouldering fierceness — that 

19 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


over his head, at this very moment, dangled the 
portentous spider, who seemed to have come 
down from his web aloft for the purpose of 
hearing what the two young people could have 
to say to his patron, and what reference it might 
have to certain mysterious documents which the 
Doctor kept locked up in a secret cupboard 
behind the door. 

‘‘ Grim Doctor,’’ said Ned, after looking up 
into the Doctor’s face, as a sensitive child in¬ 
evitably does, to see whether the occasion was 
favorable, yet determined to proceed with his 
purpose whether so or not, — “ Grim Doctor, 
I want you to answer me a question.” 

“ Here’s to your good health, Ned! ” quoth 
the Doctor, eyeing the pair intently, as he often 
did, when they were unconscious. So you 
want to ask me a question ? As many as you 
please, my fine fellow ; and I shall answer as 
many, and as much, and as truly, as may please 
myself! ” 

“Ah, grim Doctor ! ” said the little girl, now 
letting go of Ned's hand, and climbing upon 
the Doctor’s knee, “ ’ou shall answer as many 
as Ned please to ask, because to please him and 
me!” 

“ Well, child,” said Doctor Grimshawe, “ lit¬ 
tle Ned will have his rights at least, at my 
hands, if not other people’s rights likewise ; 
and, if it be right, I shall answer his question. 

20 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


Only, let him ask it at once ; for I want to be 
busy thinking about something else/’ 

Then, Doctor Grim,” said little Ned, “ tell 
me, in the first place, where I came from, and 
how you came to have me.” 

The Doctor looked at the little man, so seri¬ 
ously and earnestly putting this demand, with 
a perplexed, and at first it might almost seem a 
startled aspect. 

“ That is a question, indeed, my friend Ned ! ” 
ejaculated he, putting forth a whiff of smoke 
and imbibing a nip from his tumbler before he 
spoke; and perhaps framing his answer, as many 
thoughtful and secret people do, in such a way 
as to let out his secret mood to the child, be¬ 
cause knowing he could not understand it. 
“ Whence did you come ? Whence did any of 
us come ? Out of the darkness and mystery ; 
out of nothingness ; out of a kingdom of shad¬ 
ows ; out of dust, clay, mud, I think, and to 
return to it again. Out of a former state of 
being, whence we have brought a good many 
shadowy revelations, purporting that it was no 
very pleasant one. Out of a former life, of 
which the present one is the hell! — And why 
are you come ? Faith, Ned, he must be a wiser 
man than Doctor Grim who can tell why you 
or any other mortal came hither; only one 
thing I am well aware of, — it was not to be 
happy. To toil and moil and hope and fear; 

21 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


and to love in a shadowy, doubtful sort of way, 
and to hate in bitter earnest, — that is what you 
came for ! ** 

Ah, Doctor Grim! this is very naughty,'* 
said little Elsie. ‘‘ You are making fun of little 
Ned, when he is in earnest.** 

“ Fun ! ** quoth Doctor Grim, bursting into 
a laugh peculiar to him, very loud and obstrep¬ 
erous. ‘‘ I am glad you find it so, my little 
woman. Well, and so you bid me tell abso¬ 
lutely where he came from ? ** 

Elsie nodded her bright little head. 

‘‘ And you, friend Ned, insist upon know¬ 
ing ? ’* 

‘‘ That I do. Doctor Grim ! ** answered Ned. 
His white, childish brow had gathered into a 
frown, such was the earnestness of his determi¬ 
nation ; and he stamped his foot on the floor, 
as if ready to follow up his demand by an ap¬ 
peal to the little tin sword which hung by his 
side. The Doctor looked at him with a kind 
of smile, — not a very pleasant one ; for it was 
an unamiable characteristic of his temper that 
a display of spirit, even in a child, was apt to 
arouse his immense combativeness, and make 
him aim a blow without much consideration 
how heavily it might fall, or on how unequal 
an antagonist. 

If you insist upon an answer. Master Ned, 
you shall have it,** replied he. “You were 
22 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


taken by me, boy, a foundling from an alms¬ 
house ; and if ever hereafter you desire to know 
your kindred, you must take your chance of 
the first man you meet. He is as likely to be 
your father as another ! ” 

The child’s eyes flashed, and his brow grew 
as red as fire. It was but a momentary fierce¬ 
ness ; the next instant he clasped his hands over 
his face, and wept in a violent convulsion of 
grief and shame. Little Elsie clasped her arms 
about him, kissing his brow and chin, which 
were all that her lips could touch, under his 
clasped hands; but Ned turned away uncom¬ 
forted, and was blindly making his way towards 
the door. 

‘‘Ned, my little fellow, come back!” said 
Doctor Grim, who had very attentively watched 
the cruel effect of his communication. 

As the boy did not reply, and was still tend¬ 
ing towards the door, the grim Doctor vouch¬ 
safed to lay aside his pipe, get up from his 
armchair (a thing he seldom did between sup¬ 
per and bedtime), and shuffle after the two chil¬ 
dren in his slippers. He caught them on the 
threshold, brought little Ned back by main 
force, — for he was a rough man even in his 
tenderness,— and, sitting down again and tak¬ 
ing him on his knee, pulled away his hands 
from before his face. Never was a more pitiful 
sight than that pale countenance, so infantile 

23 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


still, yet looking old and experienced already, 
with a sense of disgrace, with a feeling of lone¬ 
liness ; so beautiful, nevertheless, that it seemed 
to possess all the characteristics which fine he¬ 
reditary traits and culture, or many forefathers, 
could do in refining a human stock. And this 
was a nameless weed, sprouting from some 
chance seed by the dusty wayside ! 

“ Ned, my dear old boy,’' said Doctor Grim, 
— and he kissed that pale, tearful face, the first 
and last time, to the best of my belief, that he 
was ever betrayed into that tenderness, — “ for¬ 
get what I have said ! Yes, remember, if you 
like, that you came from an almshouse ; but re¬ 
member, too, — what your friend Doctor Grim 
is ready to affirm and make oath of,— that he 
can trace your kindred and race through that 
sordid experience, and back, back, for a hundred 
and fifty years, into an old English line. Come, 
little Ned, and look at this picture.” 

He led the boy by the hand to a corner of 
the room, where hung upon the wall a portrait 
which Ned had often looked at. It seemed an 
old picture; but the Doctor had had it cleaned 
and varnished, so that it looked dim and dark, 
and yet it seemed to ht the representation of a 
man of no mark ; not at least of such mark as 
would naturally leave his features to be trans¬ 
mitted for the interest of another generation. 
For he was clad in a mean dress of old fashion, 

24 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


— a leather jerkin it appeared to be, — and 
round his neck, moreover, was a noose of rope, 
as if he might have been on the point of being 
hanged. But the face of the portrait, neverthe¬ 
less, was beautiful, noble, though sad; with a 
great development of sensibility, a look of suf¬ 
fering and endurance amounting to triumph, — 
a peace through all. 

Look at this,” continued the Doctor, if 
you must go on dreaming about your race. 
Dream that you are of the blood of this being; 
for, mean as his station looks, he comes of an 
ancient and noble race, and was the noblest of 
them all ! Let me alone, Ned, and 1 shall spin 
out the web that shall link you to that man. 
The grim Doctor can do it! ” 

The grim Doctor’s face looked fierce with the 
earnestness with which he said these words. You 
would have said that he was taking an oath to 
overthrow and annihilate a race, rather than to 
build one up by bringing forward the infant heir 
out of obscurity, and making plain the links — 
the filaments — which cemented this feeble child¬ 
ish life, in a far country, with the great tide of a 
noble life, which had come down like a chain 
from antiquity, in old England. 

Having said the words, however, the grim 
Doctor appeared ashamed both of the heat and 
of the tenderness into which he had been be¬ 
trayed; for rude and rough as his nature was, 

25 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

there was a kind of decorum in it, too, that kept 
him within limits of his own. So he went back 
to his chair, his pipe, and his tumbler, and was 
gruffer and more taciturn than ever for the rest 
of the evening. And after the children went to 
bed, he leaned back in his chair and looked up 
at the vast tropic spider, who was particularly 
busy in adding to the intricacies of his web ; 
until he fell asleep with his eyes fixed in that 
direction, and the extinguished pipe in one hand 
and the empty tumbler in the other. 

26 


CHAPTER III 


D octor GRIMSHAWE, after the 
foregone scene, began a practice of con¬ 
versing more with the children than 
formerly; directing his discourse chiefly to Ned, 
although Elsie's vivacity and more outspoken 
and demonstrative character made her take 
quite as large a share in the conversation as he. 

The Doctor's communications referred chiefly 
to a village, or neighborhood, or locality in Eng¬ 
land, which he chose to call Newnham; although 
he told the children that this was not the real 
name, which, for reasons best known to himself, 
he wished to conceal. Whatever the name were, 
he seemed to know the place so intimately, that 
the children, as a matter of course, adopted the 
conclusion that it was his birthplace, and the spot 
where he had spent his schoolboy days, and had 
lived until some inscrutable reason had impelled 
him to quit its ivy-grown antiquity, and all the 
aged beauty and strength that he spoke of, and 
to cross the sea. 

He used to tell of an old church, far unlike 
the brick and pine-built meeting-houses with 
which the children were familiar; a church, the 
stones of which were laid, every one of them, 
27 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


before the world knew of the country in which 
he was then speaking; and how it had a spire, 
the lower part of which was mantled with ivy, 
and up which, towards its very spire, the ivy was 
still creeping; and how there was a tradition, 
that, if the ivy ever reached the top, the spire 
would fall upon the roof of the old gray church, 
and crush it all down among its surrounding 
tombstones^ And so, as this misfortune would 
be so heavy a one, there seemed to be a miracle 
wrought from year to year, by which the ivy, 
though always flourishing, could never grow 
beyond a certain point; so that the spire and 
church had stood unharmed for thirty years; 
though the wise old people were constantly fore¬ 
telling that the passing year must be the very 
last one that it could stand. 

He told, too, of a place that made little Ned 
blush and cast down his eyes to hide the tears 
of anger and shame at he knew not what, which 
would irresistibly spring into them ; for it re¬ 
minded him of the almshouse where, as the cruel 
Doctor said, Ned himself had had his earliest 
home. And yet, after all, it had scarcely a fea¬ 
ture of resemblance ; and there was this great 
point of difference, — that whereas, in Ned’s 
wretched abode (a large, unsightly brick house), 
there were many wretched infants like himself, 
as well as helpless people of all ages, widows, 
decayed drunkards, people of feeble wits, and 
28 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 

all kinds of imbecility ; it being a haven for 
those who could not contend in the hard, eager, 
pitiless struggle of life ; in the place the Doctor 
spoke of, a noble. Gothic, mossy structure, there 
were none but aged men, who had drifted into 
this quiet harbor to end their days in a sort of 
humble yet stately ease and decorous abundance. 
And this shelter, the grim Doctor said, was the 
gift of a man who had died ages ago ; and having 
been a great sinner in his lifetime, and having 
drawn lands, manors, and a great mass of wealth 
into his clutches by violent and unfair means, 
had thought to get his pardon by founding this 
Hospital, as it was called, in which thirteen old 
men should always reside; and he hoped that 
they would spend their time in praying for the 
welfare of his soul.^ 

Said little Elsie, I am glad he did it, and I 
hope the poor old men never forgot to pray for 
him, and that it did good to the poor wicked 
man’s soul.” 

“ Well, child,” said Doctor Grimshawe, with 
a scowl into vacancy, and a sort of wicked leer 
of merriment at the same time, as if he saw be¬ 
fore him the face of the dead man of past cen¬ 
turies, “ I happen to be no lover of this man’s 
race, and I hate him for the sake of one of his 
descendants. I don’t think he succeeded in 
bribing the Devil to let him go, or God to save 
him!” 


29 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

“ Doctor Grim, you are very naughty ! ” said 
Elsie, looking shocked. 

“ It is fair enough,” said Ned, to hate your 
enemy to the very brink of the grave, but then 
to leave him to get what mercy he can.” 

After shoving him in ! ” quoth the Doctor, 
and made no further response to either of these 
criticisms, which seemed indeed to affect him 
very little—if he even listened to them. For 
he was a man of singularly imperfect moral cul¬ 
ture ; insomuch that nothing else was so remark¬ 
able about him as that — possessing a good deal 
of intellectual ability, made available by much 
reading and experience — he was so very dark 
on the moral side ; as if he needed the natural 
perceptions that should have enabled him to ac¬ 
quire that better wisdom. Such a phenomenon 
often meets us in life ; oftener than we recog¬ 
nize, because a certain tact and exterior decency 
generally hide the moral deficiency. But often 
there is a mind well polished, married to a con¬ 
science and natural impulses left as they were in 
childhood, except that they have sprouted up 
into evil and poisonous weeds, richly blossom¬ 
ing with strong-smelling flowers, or seeds which 
the plant scatters by a sort of impulse ; even as 
the Doctor was now half consciously throwing 
seeds of his evil passions into the minds of these 
children. He was himself a grown-up child, 
without tact, simplicity, and innocence, and with 
30 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


ripened evil, all the ranker for a native heat that 
was in him and still active, which might have 
nourished good things as well as evil. Indeed, 
it did cherish by chance a root or two of good, 
the fragrance of which was sometimes percep¬ 
tible among all this rank growth of poisonous 
weeds. A grown-up child he was, — that was 
all. 

The Doctor now went on to describe an old 
country seat, which stood near this village and 
the ancient Hospital that he had been telling 
about, and which was formerly the residence of 
the wicked man (a knight and a brave one, well 
known in the Lancastrian wars) who had founded 
the latter. It was a venerable old mansion, which 
a Saxon Thane had begun to build more than 
a thousand years ago, the old English oak that 
he built into the frame being still visible in the 
ancient skeleton of .its roof, sturdy and strong 
as if put up yesterday. And the descendants 
of the man who built it, through the French 
line (for a Norman baron wedded-the daughter 
and heiress of the Saxon), dwelt there yet; and 
in each century they had done something for the 
old Hall, — building a tower, adding a suite of 
rooms, strengthening what was already built, 
putting in a painted window, making it more 
spacious and convenient,— till it seemed as if 
Time employed himself in thinking what could 
be done for the old house. As fast as any part 

31 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


decayed, it was renewed, with such simple art 
that the new completed, as it were, and fitted it¬ 
self to the old. So that it seemed as if the house 
never had been finished, until just that thing was 
added. For many an age, the possessors had 
gone on adding strength to strength, digging 
out the moat to a greater depth, piercing the 
walls with holes for archers to shoot through, 
or building a turret to keep watch upon. But 
at last all necessity for these precautions passed 
away, and then they thought of convenience and 
comfort, adding something in every generation 
to these. And by and by they thought of 
beauty too; and in this time helped them with 
its weather-stains, and the ivy that grew over 
the walls, and the grassy depth of the dried-up 
moat, and the abundant shade that grew up 
everywhere, where naked strength would have 
been ugly. 

‘‘ One curious thing in the house,'’ said the 
Doctor, lowering his voice, but with a mysteri¬ 
ous look of triumph, and that old scowl, too, at 
the children, was that they built a secret cham¬ 
ber, — a very secret one ! ” 

‘‘ A secret chamber! ” cried little Ned ; ‘‘who 
lived in it ? A ghost ? ” 

“ There was often use for it,” said Doctor 
Grim : “ hiding people who had fought on the 
wrong side, or Catholic priests, or criminals, or 
perhaps — who knows ? — enemies that they 

32 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


wanted put out of the way, — troublesome 
folks. Ah ! it was often of use, that secret 
chamber; and is so still ! ” 

Here the Doctor paused a long while, and 
leaned back in his chair, slowly puffing long 
whiffs from his pipe, looking up at the great 
spider demon that hung over his head, and, as 
it seemed to the children by the expression of 
his face, looking into the dim secret chamber 
which he had spoken of, and which, by some¬ 
thing in his mode of alluding to it, assumed 
such a weird, spectral aspect to their imagina¬ 
tions that they never wished to hear of it again. 
Coming back at length out of his reverie, — re¬ 
turning, perhaps, out of some weird, ghostly, se¬ 
cret chamber of his memory, whereof the one in 
the old house was but the less horrible emblem, 
— he resumed his tale. 

He said that, a long time ago, a war broke 
out in the old country between King and Par¬ 
liament. At that period there were several 
brothers of the old family (which had adhered 
to the Catholic religion), and these chose the 
side of the King instead of that of the Puritan 
Parliament: all but one, whom the family hated 
because he took the Parliament side; and he 
became a soldier, and fought against his own 
brothers; and it was said among them that, 
so inveterate was he, he went on the scaffold, 
masked, and was the very man who struck off 
33 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


the King’s head, and that his foot trod in the 
King’s blood, and that always afterwards he 
made a bloody track wherever he went. And 
there was a legend that his brethren once caught 
the renegade and imprisoned him in his own 
birthplace — 

“In the secret chamber ? ” interrupted Ned. 

“No doubt!” said the Doctor, nodding, 
“ though I never heard so.” 

They imprisoned him, but he made his escape 
and fled, and in the morning his prison place, 
wherever it was, was empty. But on the thresh¬ 
old of the door of the old manor house there 
was the print of a bloody footstep; and no 
trouble that the housemaids took, no rain of all 
the years that have since passed, no sunshine, 
has made it fade; nor have all the wear and 
tramp of feet passing over it since then availed 
to erase it. 

“ I have seen it myself,” quoth the Doctor, 
“ and know this to be true.” 

“ Doctor Grim, now you are laughing at us,” 
said Ned, trying to look grave. But Elsie hid 
her face on the Doctor’s knee ; there being 
something that affected the vivid little girl with 
peculiar horror in the idea of this red footstep 
always glistening on the doorstep, and wetting, 
as she fancied, every innocent foot of child or 
grown person that had since passed over it.® 

“It is true! ” reiterated the grim Doctor; 

34 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

“ for, man and boy, I have seen it a thousand 
times.” 

He continued the family history, or tradition, 
or fantastic legend, whichever it might be; tell¬ 
ing his young auditors that the Puritan, the 
renegade son of the family, was afterwards, by 
the contrivances of his brethren, sent to Vir¬ 
ginia and sold as a bond-slave ; and how he had 
vanished from that quarter and come to New 
England, where he was supposed to have left 
children. And by and by two elder brothers 
died, and this missing brother became the heir 
to the old estate and to a title. Then the fam¬ 
ily tried to track his bloody footstep, and sought 
it far and near, through green country paths, 
and old streets of London; but in vain. Then 
they sent messengers to see whether any traces 
of one stepping in blood could be found on the 
forest leaves of America; but still in vain. The 
idea nevertheless prevailed that he would come 
back, and it was said they kept a bedchamber 
ready for him yet in the old house. But much 
as they pretended to regret the loss of him and 
his children, it would make them curse their 
stars were a descendant of his to return now. 
For the child of a younger son was in posses¬ 
sion of the old estate, and was doing as much 
evil as his forefathers did; and if the true heir 
were to appear on the threshold, he would (if 
he might but do it secretly) stain the whole 
35 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

doorstep as red as the Bloody Footstep had 
stained one little portion of it. 

“ Do you think he will ever come back ? ** 
asked little Ned. 

“ Stranger things have happened, my little 
man,” said Doctor Grimshawe, ‘‘ than that the 
posterity of this man should come back and 
turn these usurpers out of his rightful inherit¬ 
ance. And sometimes, as I sit here smoking 
my pipe and drinking my glass, and looking up 
at the cunning plot that the spider is weaving 
yonder above my head, and thinking of this 
fine old family and some little matters that have 
been between them and me, I fancy that it may 
be so ! We shall see ! Stranger things have 
happened.” 

And Doctor Grimshawe drank off his tum¬ 
bler, winking at little Ned in a strange way, that 
seemed to be a kind of playfulness, but which 
did not affect the children pleasantly ; insomuch 
that little Elsie put both her hands on Doctor 
Grim’s knees, and begged him not to do so any 
more.^ 


36 


CHAPTER IV' 


HE children, after this conversation. 



often introduced the old English man¬ 


sion into their dreams and little ro¬ 


mances, which all imaginative children are con¬ 
tinually mixing up with their lives, making the 
commonplace day of grown people a rich, misty, 
glancing orb of fairyland to themselves. Ned, 
forgetting or not realizing the long lapse of 
time, used to fancy the true heir wandering all 
this while in America, and leaving a long track 
of bloody footsteps behind him; until the pe¬ 
riod when, his sins being expiated (whatever 
they might be), he should turn back upon his 
steps and return to his old native home. And 
sometimes the child used to look along the 
streets of the town where he dwelt, bending his 
thoughtful eyes on the ground, and think that 
perhaps some time he should see the bloody 
footsteps there, betraying that the wanderer had 
just gone that way. 

As for little Elsie, it was her fancy that the 
hero of the legend still remained imprisoned in 
that dreadful secret chamber, which had made a 
most dread impression on her mind; and that 
there he was, forgotten all this time, waiting, 


37 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 


like a naughty child shut up in a closet, until 
some one should come to unlock the door. In 
the pitifulness of her disposition, she once pro¬ 
posed to little Ned that, as soon as they grew 
big enough, they should set out in quest of the 
old house, and find their way into it, and find 
the secret chamber, and let the poor prisoner 
out. So they lived a good deal of the time in 
a half-waking dream, partly conscious of the 
fantastic nature of their ideas, yet with these 
ideas almost as real to them as the facts of the 
natural world, which, to children, are at first 
transparent and unsubstantial. 

The Doctor appeared to have a pleasure, or 
a purpose, in keeping his legend forcibly in their 
memories; he often recurred to the subject of 
the old English family, and was continually giv¬ 
ing new details about its history, the scenery in 
its neighborhood, the aspect of the mansion 
house; indicating a very intense interest in the 
subject on his own part, of which this much talk 
seemed the involuntary overflowing. 

There was, however, an affection mingled with 
this sentiment. It appeared to be his unfortunate 
necessity to let his thoughts dwell very con¬ 
stantly upon a subject that was hateful to him, 
with which this old English estate and manor 
house and family were somehow connected; and, 
moreover, had he spoken thus to older and more 
experienced auditors, they might have detected 

38 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


in the manner and matter of his talk a certain 
hereditary reverence and awe, the growth of ages, 
mixed up with a newer hatred, impelling him to 
deface and destroy what, at the same time, it was 
his deepest impulse to bow before. The love 
belonged to his race ; the hatred, to himself indi¬ 
vidually. It was the feeling of a man lowly born, 
when he contracts a hostility to his hereditary 
superior. In one way, being of a powerful, pas¬ 
sionate nature, gifted with force and ability far 
superior to that of the aristocrat, he might scorn 
him and feel able to trample on him; in another, 
he had the same awe that a country boy feels 
of the magistrate who flings him a sixpence and 
shakes his horsewhip at him. 

Had the grim Doctor been an American, he 
might have had the vast antipathy to rank, with¬ 
out the trace of awe that made it so much more 
malignant: it required a low-born Englishman to 
feel the two together. What made the hatred 
so fiendish was a something that, in the natural 
course of things, would have been loyalty, in¬ 
herited affection, devoted self-sacrifice to a supe¬ 
rior. Whatever it might be, it seemed at times 
(when his potations took deeper effect than or¬ 
dinary) almost to drive the grim Doctor mad; for 
he would burst forth in wild diatribes and anathe¬ 
mas, having a strange, rough force of expression 
and a depth of utterance, as if his words came 
from a bottomless pit within himself, where 
39 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

burned an everlasting fire, and where the furies 
had their home; and plans of dire revenge were 
welded into shape as in the heat of a furnace. 
After the two poor children had been affrighted 
by paroxysms of this kind, the strange being 
would break out into one of his roars of laughter, 
that seemed to shake the house, and, at all events, 
caused the cobwebs and spiders suspended from 
the ceiling to swing and vibrate with the motion 
of the volumes of reverberating breath which he 
thus expelled from his capacious lungs. Then, 
catching up little Elsie upon one knee and Ned 
upon the other, he would become gentler than 
in his usual moods, and, by the powerful mag¬ 
netism of his character, cause them to think him 
as tender and sweet an old fellow as a child could 
desire for a playmate. Upon the whole, strange 
as it may appear, they loved the grim Doctor 
dearly; there was a loadstone within him that 
drew them close to him and kept them there, in 
spite of the horror of many things that he said 
and did. One thing that, slight as it seemed, 
wrought mightily towards their mutually petting 
each other, was that no amount of racket, hubbub, 
shouting, laughter, or noisy mischief which the 
two children could perpetrate, ever disturbed the 
Doctor’s studies, meditations, or employments 
of whatever kind. He had a hardy set of nerves, 
not refined by careful treatment in himself or 
his ancestors, but probably accustomed from of 
40 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

old to be drummed on by harsh voices, rude 
sounds, and the clatter and clamor of house¬ 
hold life among homely, uncultivated, strongly 
animal people. 

As the two children grew apace, it behooved 
their strange guardian to take some thought for 
their instruction. So far as little Elsie was con¬ 
cerned, however, he seemed utterly indifferent to 
her having any cultivation ; having imbibed no 
modern ideas respecting feminine capacities and 
privileges, but regarding woman, whether in the 
bud or in the blossom, as the plaything of man’s 
idler moments, and the helpmeet — but in a 
humble capacity — of his daily life. He some¬ 
times bade her go to the kitchen and take lessons 
of crusty Hannah in bread-making, sweeping, 
dusting, washing, the coarser needlework, and 
such other things as she would require to know 
when she came to be a woman ; but carelessly 
allowed her to gather up the crumbs of such in¬ 
struction as he bestowed on her playmate Ned, 
and thus learn to read, write, and cipher ; which, 
to say the truth, was about as far in the way of 
scholarship as little Elsie cared to go. 

But towards little Ned the grim Doctor 
adopted a far different system. No sooner had 
he reached the age when the soft and tender 
intellect of the child became capable of retain¬ 
ing impressions, than he took him vigorously in 
hand, assigning him such tasks as were fit for 

41 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

him, and curiously investigating what were the 
force and character of the powers with which the 
child grasped them. Not that the Doctor pressed 
him forward unduly ; indeed, there was no need 
of it; for the boy manifested a remarkable docil¬ 
ity for instruction, and a singular quickness in 
mastering the preliminary steps which lead to 
science : a subtle instinct, indeed, which it seemed 
wonderful a child should possess for anything 
as artificial as systems of grammar and arithmetic. 
A remarkable boy, in truth, he was, to have been 
found by chance in an almshouse; except that, 
such being his origin, we are at liberty to sup¬ 
pose for him whatever long cultivation and gen¬ 
tility we may think necessary, in his parentage 
of either side, — such as was indicated also by 
his graceful and refined beauty of person. He 
showed, indeed, even before he began to read at 
all, an instinctive attraction towards books, and 
a love for and interest in even the material form 
of knowledge, — the plates, the print, the bind¬ 
ing of the Doctor’s volumes, and even in a book¬ 
worm which he once found in an old volume, 
where it had eaten a circular furrow. But the 
little boy had too quick a spirit of life to be in 
danger of becoming a bookworm himself. He 
had this side of the intellect, but his impulse 
would be to mix with men, and catch something 
from their intercourse fresher than books could 

42 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


give him; though these would give him what 
they might. 

In the grim Doctor, rough and uncultivated 
as he seemed, this budding intelligence found 
no inadequate instructor. Doctor Grimshawe 
proved himself a far more thorough scholar, in 
the classics and mathematics, than could easily 
have been found in our country. He himself 
must have had rigid and faithful instruction at 
an early period of life, though probably not in 
his boyhood. For, though the culture had been 
bestowed, his mind had been left in so singu¬ 
larly rough a state that it seemed as if the re¬ 
finement of classical study could not have been 
begun very early. Or possibly the mind and 
nature were incapable of polish; or he may 
have had a coarse and sordid domestic life 
around him in his infancy and youth. He was 
a gem of coarse texture, just hewn out. An 
American with a like education would more 
likely have gained a certain fineness and grace, 
and it would have been difficult to distinguish 
him from one who had been born to culture and 
refinement. This sturdy Englishman, after all 
that had been done for his mind, and though 
it had been well done, was still but another 
ploughman, of a long race of such, with a few 
scratchings of refinement on his hard exterior. 
His son, if he left one, might be a little less of 
43 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


the ploughman ; his grandson, provided the 
female element were well chosen, might ap¬ 
proach to refinement; three generations — a cen¬ 
tury at least — would be required for the slow 
toil of hewing, chiselling, and polishing a gen¬ 
tleman out of this ponderous block, now rough 
from the quarry of human nature. But, in 
the meantime, he evidently possessed in an un¬ 
usual degree the sort of learning that refines 
other minds, — the critical acquaintance with the 
great poets and historians of antiquity, and ap¬ 
parently an appreciation of their merits, and 
power to teach their beauty. So the boy had 
an able tutor, capable, it would seem, of show¬ 
ing him the way to the graces he did not him¬ 
self possess ; besides helping the growth of the 
strength without which refinement is but sickly 
and disgusting. 

Another sort of culture, which it seemed odd 
that this rude man should undertake, was that 
of manners; but, in fact, rude as the grim 
Doctor’s own manners were, he was one of the 
nicest and severest censors in that departm.ent 
that was ever known. It is difficult to account 
for this; although it is almost invariably found 
that persons in a low rank of life, such as ser¬ 
vants and laborers, will detect the false pre¬ 
tender to the character of a gentleman, with at 
least as sure an instinct as the class into which 
they seek to thrust themselves. Perhaps they 
44 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


recognize something akin to their own vulgar¬ 
ity, rather than appreciate what is unlike them¬ 
selves. The Doctor possessed a peculiar power 
of rich rough humor on this subject, and used 
to deliver lectures, as it were, to little Ned, 
illustrated with sketches of living individuals 
in the town where they dwelt; by an unscru¬ 
pulous use of whom he sought to teach the 
boy what to avoid in manners, if he sought to 
be a gentleman. But it must be confessed he 
spared himself as little as other people, and 
often wound up with this compendious injunc¬ 
tion, — “ Be everything in your behavior that 
Doctor Grim is not! ” 

His pupil, very probably, profited somewhat 
by these instructions ; for there are specialties 
and arbitrary rules of behavior which do not 
come by nature. But these are few ; and beau¬ 
tiful, noble, and genial manners may almost 
be called a natural gift; and these, however he 
inherited them, soon proved to be an inherent 
possession of little Ned. He had a kind of 
natural refinement, which nothing could ever 
soil or offend ; it seemed, by some magic or 
other, absolutely to keep him from the know¬ 
ledge of much of the grim Doctor's rude and 
sordid exterior, and to render what was around 
him beautiful by a sort of affiliation, or reflec¬ 
tion from that quality in himself, glancing its 
white light upon it. The Doctor himself was 
45 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

puzzled, and apparently both startled and de¬ 
lighted at the perception of these characteristics. 
Sometimes he would make a low, uncouth bow, 
after his fashion, to the little fellow, saying, 
“ Allow me to kiss your hand, my lord 1 ” and 
little Ned, not quite knowing what the grim 
Doctor meant, yet allowed the favor he asked, 
with a grave and gracious condescension that 
seemed much to delight the suitor. This re¬ 
fusal to recognize or to suspect that the Doctor 
might be laughing at him was a sure token, at 
any rate, of the lack of one vulgar characteristic 
in little Ned. 

In order to afford little Ned every advantage 
to these natural gifts. Doctor Grim nevertheless 
failed not to provide the best attainable instruc¬ 
tor for such positive points of a polite educa¬ 
tion as his own fierce criticism, being destructive 
rather than generative, would not suffice for. 
There was a Frenchman in the town — a M. Le 
Grand, secretly calling himself a Count — who 
taught the little people, and, indeed, some of 
their elders, the Parisian pronunciation of his 
own language; and likewise dancing (in which 
he was more of an adept and more successful 
than in the former branch) and fencing: in 
which, after looking at a lesson or two, the grim 
Doctor was satisfied of his skill. Under his 
instruction, with the stimulus of the Doctor’s 
praise and criticism, Ned soon grew to be the 
46 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


pride of the Frenchman’s school, in both the 
active departments ; and the Doctor himself 
added a further gymnastic acquirement (not 
absolutely necessary, he said, to a gentleman’s 
education, but very desirable to a man perfect 
at all points) by teaching him cudgel-playing 
and pugilism. In short, in everything that re¬ 
lated to accomplishments, whether of mind or 
body, no pains were spared with little Ned ; 
but of the utilitarian line of education, then al¬ 
most exclusively adopted, and especially desir¬ 
able for a fortuneless boy like Ned, dependent 
on a man not wealthy, there was little given. 

At first, too, the Doctor paid little attention 
to the moral and religious culture of his pupil; 
nor did he ever make a system of it. But by 
and by, though with a singular reluctance and 
kind of bashfulness, he began to extend his care 
to these matters ; being drawn into them un¬ 
awares, and possibly perceiving and learning 
what he taught as he went along. One even¬ 
ing, I know not how, he was betrayed into 
speaking on this point, and a sort of inspiration 
seized him. A vista opened before him : han¬ 
dling an immortal spirit, he began to know its 
requisitions, in a degree far beyond what he had 
conceived them to be when his great task was 
undertaken. His voice grew deep, and had a 
strange, impressive pathos in it; his talk be¬ 
came eloquent with depth of meaning and feel- 
47 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 

ing, as he told the boy of the moral dangers of 
the world, for which he was seeking to educate 
him ; and which, he said, presented what looked 
like great triumphs, and yet were the greatest 
and saddest of defeats. He told him that many 
things that seemed nearest and dearest to the 
heart of man were destructive, eating and gnaw¬ 
ing away and corroding what was best in him ; 
and what a high, noble, re-creating triumph it 
was when these dark impulses were resisted and 
overthrown ; and how, from that epoch, the soul 
took a new start. He denounced the selfish 
greed of gold, lawless passion, revenge, — and 
here the grim Doctor broke out into a strange 
passion and zeal of anathema against this deadly 
sin, making a dreadful picture of the ruin that 
it creates in the heart where it establishes itself, 
and how it makes a corrosive acid of those gen¬ 
ial juices. Then he told the boy that the con¬ 
dition of all good was, in the first place, truth ; 
then, courage ; then, justice ; then, mercy; out 
of which principles operating upon one another 
would come all brave, noble, high, unselfish ac¬ 
tions, and the scorn of all mean ones ; and how 
that from such a nature all hatred would fall 
away, and all good affections would be ennobled. 

I know not at what point it was, precisely, in 
these ethical instructions that an insight seemed 
to strike the grim Doctor that something more 
— vastly more — was needed than all he had 
48 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


said; and he began, doubtfully, to speak of 
man’s spiritual nature and its demands, and the 
emptiness of everything which a sense of these 
demands did not pervade, and condense, and 
weighten into realities. And going on in this 
strain, he soared out of himself and astonished 
the two children, who stood gazing at him, won¬ 
dering whether it were the Doctor who was 
speaking thus ; until some interrupting circum¬ 
stance seemed to bring him back to himself, and 
he burst into one of his great roars of laughter. 
The inspiration, the strange light whereby he 
had been transfigured, passed out of his face ; 
and there was the uncouth, wild-bearded, rough, 
earthy, passionate man, whom they called Doc¬ 
tor Grim, looking ashamed of himself, and try¬ 
ing to turn the whole matter into a jest.^ 

It was a sad pity that he should have been 
interrupted, and brought into this mocking 
mood, just when he seemed to have broken 
away from the sinfulness of his hot, evil nature, 
and to have soared into a region where, with all 
his native characteristics transfigured, he seemed 
to have become an angel in his own likeness. 
Crusty Hannah, who had been drawn to the 
door of the study by the unusual tones of his 
voice, — a kind of piercing sweetness in it, — 
always averred that she saw the gigantic spider 
swooping round his head in great crafty circles, 
and clutching, as it were, at his brain with its 
49 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


great claws. But it was the old woman’s absurd 
idea that this hideous insect was the Devil, 
in that ugly guise, — a superstition which 
deserves absolutely no countenance. Never¬ 
theless, though this paroxysm of devotional feel¬ 
ing and insight returned no more to the grim 
Doctor, it was ever after a memorable occasion 
to the two children. It touched that religious 
chord, in both their hearts, which there was no 
mother to touch ; but now it vibrated long, and 
never ceased to vibrate so long as they remained 
together, — nor, perhaps, after they were parted 
from each other and from the grim Doctor. 
And even then, in those after years, the strange 
music that had been awakened was continued, 
as it were the echo from harps on high. Now, 
at all events, they made little prayers for them¬ 
selves, and said them at bedtime, generally in 
secret, sometimes in unison; and they read in 
an old dusty Bible which lay among the grim 
Doctor’s books ; and from little heathens, they 
became Christian children. Doctor Grimshawe 
was perhaps conscious of this result of his in¬ 
voluntary preachment, but he never directly 
noticed it, and did nothing either to efface or 
deepen the impression. 

It was singular, however, that, in both the 
children’s minds, this one gush of irresistible 
religious sentiment, breaking out of the grim 
Doctor’s inner depths, like a sort of holy lava 
50 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


from a volcano that usually emitted quite other 
matter (such as hot, melted wrath and hate), 
quite threw out of sight, then and always after¬ 
wards, his darker characteristics. They remem¬ 
bered him, with faith and love, as a religious 
man, and forgot — what perhaps had made no 
impression on their innocent hearts — all the 
traits that other people might have called devil¬ 
ish. To them the grim Doctor was a saint, 
even during his lifetime and constant intercourse 
with them, and canonized forever afterwards. 
There is almost always, to be sure, this pro¬ 
found faith, with regard to those they love, in 
childhood; but perhaps, in this instance, the 
children really had a depth of insight that grown 
people lacked; a profound recognition of the 
bottom of this strange man’s nature, which was 
of such stuff as martyrs and heroic saints might 
have been made of, though here it had been 
wrought miserably amiss. At any rate, his face 
with the holy awe upon it was what they saw 
and remembered, when they thought of their 
friend Doctor Grim. 

One effect of his zealous and analytic instruc¬ 
tion of the boy was very perceptible. Hereto¬ 
fore, though enduring him, and occasionally 
making a plaything of him, it may be doubted 
whether the grim Doctor had really any strong 
affection for the child: it rather seemed as if 
his strong will were forcing him to undertake, 

51 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 

and carry sedulously forward, a self-imposed 
task. All that he had done — his redeeming 
the bright child from poverty and nameless de¬ 
gradation, ignorance, and a sordid life hopeless 
of better fortune, and opening to him the whole 
realm of mighty possibilities in an American 
life — did not imply any love for the little indi¬ 
vidual whom he thus benefited. It had some 
other motive. 

But now, approaching the child in this close, 
intimate, and helpful way, it was very evident 
that his interest took a tenderer character. 
There was everything in the boy, that a boy 
could possess, to attract affection ; he would 
have been a father’s pride and joy. Doctor 
Grimshawe, indeed, was not his father; but to 
a person of his character this was perhaps no 
cause of lesser love than if there had been the 
whole of that holy claim of kindred between 
them. We speak of the natural force of blood ; 
we speak of the paternal relation as if it were 
productive of more earnest affection than can 
exist between two persons, one of whom is pro¬ 
tective, but unrelated. But there are wild, for¬ 
cible, unrestricted characters, on whom the ne¬ 
cessity and even duty of loving their own child 
is a sort of barrier to love. They perhaps do 
not love their own traits, which they recognize 
in their children ; they shrink from their own 
features in the,reflection presented by these lit- 

52 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

tie mirrors. A certain strangeness and unlike¬ 
ness (such as gives poignancy to the love be¬ 
tween the sexes) would excite a livelier affection. 
Be this as it may, it is not probable that Doctor 
Grimshawe would have loved a child of his own 
blood, with the coarse characteristics that he 
knew both in his race and himself, with nearly 
such fervor as this beautiful, slender, yet strenu¬ 
ous, intelligent, refined boy, — with such a high¬ 
bred air, handling common things with so re¬ 
fined a touch, yet grasping them so firmly; 
throwing a natural grace on all he did. Was 
he not his father, — he that took this fair blos¬ 
som out of the sordid mud in which he must 
soon have withered and perished ? Was not 
this beautiful strangeness, which he so wondered 
at, the result of his care ? 

And little Elsie ? did the grim Doctor love 
her as well ? Perhaps not, for, in the first 
place, there was a natural tie, though not the 
nearest, between her and Doctor Grimshawe, 
which made him feel that she was cast upon his 
love : a burden which he acknowledged himself 
bound to undertake. Then, too, there were 
unutterably painful reminiscences and thoughts, 
that made him gasp for breath, that turned his 
blood sour, that tormented his dreams with 
nightmares and hellish phantoms ; all of which 
were connected with this innocent and happy 
child; so that, cheerful and pleasant as she was, 
53 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 

there was to the grim Doctor a little fiend play¬ 
ing about his floor and throwing a lurid light 
on the wall, as the shadow of this sun-flickering 
child. It is certain that there was always a pain 
and horror mixed with his feelings towards 
Elsie; he had to forget himself, as it were, and 
all that was connected with the causes why she 
came to be, before he could love her. Amid 
his fondness, when he was caressing her upon 
his knee, pressing her to his rough bosom, as 
he never took the freedom to press Ned, came 
these hateful reminiscences, compelling him to 
set her down, and corrugating his heavy brows 
as with a pang of fiercely resented, strongly 
borne pain. Still, the child had no doubt con¬ 
trived to make her way into the great gloomy 
cavern of the grim Doctor's heart, and stole 
constantly further and further in, carrying a ray 
of sunshine in her hand as a taper to light her 
way, and illuminate the rude dark pit into which 
she so fearlessly went. 

54 


CHAPTER V 


D octor grim ' had the English faith 

in open air and daily acquaintance with 
the weather, whatever it might be; and 
it was his habit, not only to send the two chil¬ 
dren to play, for lack of a better place, in the 
graveyard, but to take them himself on long 
rambles, of which the vicinity of the town af¬ 
forded a rich variety. It may be that the Doc¬ 
tor's excursions had the wider scope, because 
both he and the children were objects of curi¬ 
osity in the town, and very much the subject 
of its gossip : so that always, in its streets and 
lanes, the people turned to gaze, and came to 
their windows and to the doors of shops to see 
this grim, bearded figure, leading along the 
beautiful children each by a hand, with a surly 
aspect like a bulldog. Their remarks were 
possibly not intended to reach the ears of the 
party, but certainly were not so cautiously whis¬ 
pered but they occasionally did do so. The 
male remarks, indeed, generally died away in 
the throats that uttered them ; a circumstance 
that doubtless saved the utterer from some very 
rough rejoinder at the hands of the Doctor, 
who had grown up in the habit of a very ready 
55 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


and free recourse to his fists, which had a way 
of doubling themselves up seemingly of their 
own accord. But the shrill feminine voices 
sometimes sent their observations from window 
to window without dread of any such repartee 
on the part of the subject of them. 

“ There he goes, the old Spider-witch! ” quoth 
one shrill woman, ‘‘ with those two poor babes 
that he has caught in his cobweb, and is going 
to feed upon, poor little tender things! The 
bloody Englishman makes free with the dead 
bodies of our friends and the living ones of our 
children! ” 

ow red his nose is ! ” quoth another; he 
has pulled at the brandy bottle pretty stoutly 
to-day, early as it is ! Pretty habits those chil¬ 
dren will learn, between the Devil in the shape 
of a great spider, and this devilish fellow in his 
own shape ! It were well that our townsmen 
tarred and feathered the old British wizard!'' 

And, as he got further off, two or three little 
blackguard barefoot boys shouted shrilly after 
him, — 

** Doctor Grim, Doctor Grim, 

The Devil wove a web for him ! ** 

being a nonsensical couplet that had been made 
for the grim Doctor’s benefit, and was hooted 
in the streets, and under his own windows. 
Hearing such remarks and insults, the Doctor 
would glare round at them with red eyes, espe- 
5b 


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DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


dally if the brandy bottle had happened to be 
much in request that day. 

Indeed, poor Doctor Grim had met with a 
fortune which befalls many a man with less 
cause than drew the public attention on this odd 
humorist; for, dwelling in a town which was 
as yet but a larger village, where everybody 
knew everybody, and claimed the privilege to 
know and discuss their characters, and where 
there were few topics of public interest to take 
oif their attention, a very considerable portion 
of town talk and criticism fell upon him. The 
old town had a certain provincialism, which is 
less the characteristic of towns in these days, 
when society circulates so freely, than then: be¬ 
sides, it was a very rude epoch, ju§t when the 
country had come through the war of the Re¬ 
volution, and while the surges of that commotion 
were still seething and swelling, and while the 
habits and morals of every individual in the com¬ 
munity still felt its influence ; and especially the 
contest was too recent for an Englishman to be 
in very good odor, unless he should cease to 
be English, and become more American than 
the Americans themselves in repudiating Brit¬ 
ish prejudices or principles, habits, mode of 
thought, and everything that distinguishes Brit¬ 
ons at home or abroad. As Doctor Grim did 
not see fit to do this, and as, moreover, he was 
a very doubtful, questionable, morose, unami- 
57 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 

able old fellow, not seeking to make himself 
liked nor deserving to be so, he was a very un¬ 
popular person in the town where he had chosen 
to reside. Nobody thought very well of him; 
the respectable people had heard of his pipe and 
brandy bottle ; the religious community knew 
that he never showed himself at church or meet¬ 
ing; so that he had not that very desirable 
strength (in a society split up into many sects) 
of being able to rely upon the party sympathies 
of any one of them. The mob hated him with 
the blind sentiment that makes one surly cur 
hostile to another surly cur. He was the most 
isolated individual to be found anywhere; and, 
being so unsupported, everybody was his enemy. 

The town, as it happened, had been pleased 
to interest itself much in this matter of Doctor 
Grim and the two children, insomuch as he never 
sent them to school, nor came with them to meet¬ 
ing of any kind, but was bringing them up igno¬ 
rant heathen to all appearances, and, as many 
believed, was devoting them in some way to the 
great spider, to which he had bartered his own 
soul. It had been mooted among the select¬ 
men, the fathers of the town, whether their duty 
did not require them to put the children under 
more suitable guardianship; a measure which, 
it may be, was chiefly hindered by the consider¬ 
ation that, in that case, the cost of supporting 
them would probably be transferred from the 

58 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

grim Doctor's shoulders to those of the com¬ 
munity . Nevertheless, they did what they could. 
Maidenly ladies, prim and starched, in one or 
two instances called upon the Doctor — the two 
children meanwhile being in the graveyard at 
play — to give him Christian advice as to the 
management of his charge. But, to confess the 
truth, the Doctor's reception of these fair mis¬ 
sionaries was not extremely courteous. They 
were, perhaps, partly instigated by a natural 
feminine desire to see the interior of a place 
about which they had heard much, with its 
spiders' webs, its strange machines and confus¬ 
ing tools ; so, much contrary to crusty Hannah's 
advice, they persisted in entering. Crusty Han¬ 
nah listened at the door; and it was curious to 
see the delighted smile which came over her dry 
old visage as the Doctor's growling, rough voice, 
after an abrupt question or two, and a reply in 
a thin voice on the part of the maiden ladies, 
grew louder and louder, till the door opened, 
and forth came the benevolent pair in great dis¬ 
composure. Crusty Hannah averred that their 
caps were much rumpled ; but this view of the 
thing was questioned; though it were certain 
that the Doctor called after them downstairs, 
that, had they been younger and prettier, they 
would have fared worse. A male emissary, who 
was admitted on the supposition of his being a 
patient, did fare worse; for (the grim Doctor 
59 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE'S SECRET 


having been particularly intimate with the black 
bottle that afternoon) there was, about ten min¬ 
utes after the visitor’s entrance, a sudden fierce 
upraising of the Doctor’s growl ; then a strug¬ 
gle that shook the house; and, finally, a terrible 
rumbling down the stairs, which proved to be 
caused by the precipitate descent of the hapless 
visitor; who, if he needed no assistance of the 
grim Doctor on his entrance, certainly would 
have been the better for a plaster or two after 
his departure. 

Such were the terms on which Doctor Grim- 
shawe now stood with his adopted townspeople ; 
and if we consider the dull little town to be full 
of exaggerated stories about the Doctor’s odd¬ 
ities, many of them forged, all retailed in an 
unfriendly spirit; misconceptions of a character 
which, in its best and most candidly interpreted 
aspects, was sufficiently amenable to censure; 
surmises taken for certainties ; superstitions — 
the genuine hereditary offspring of the frame of 
public mind which produced the witchcraft de¬ 
lusion — all fermenting together ; and all this 
evil and uncharitableness taking the delusive hue 
of benevolent interest in two helpless children ; 
— we may partly judge what was the odium in 
which the grim Doctor dwelt, and amid which 
he walked. The horrid suspicion, too, counte¬ 
nanced by his abode in the corner of the grave¬ 
yard, affording the terrible Doctor such facili- 
6o 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


ties for making free, like a ghoul as he was, with 
the relics of mortality from the earliest progen¬ 
itor to the man killed yesterday by the Doctor’s 
own drugs, was not likely to improve his repu¬ 
tation. 

He had heretofore contented himself with, 
at most, occasionally shaking his stick at his as¬ 
sailants ; but this day the black bottle had im¬ 
parted, it may be, a little more fire than ordi¬ 
nary to his blood; and besides, an unlucky 
urchin happened to take particularly good aim 
with a mud-ball, which took effect right in the 
midst of the Doctor’s bushy beard, and, being 
of a soft consistency, forthwith became incorpo¬ 
rated with it. At this intolerable provocation 
the grim Doctor pursued the little villain, amid 
a shower of similar missiles from the boy’s play¬ 
mates, caught him as he was escaping into a 
back yard, dragged him into the middle of the 
street, and, with his stick, proceeded to give him 
his merited chastisement. 

But, hereupon, it was astonishing how sud¬ 
den commotion flashed up like gunpowder along 
the street, which, except for the petty shrieks 
and laughter of a few children, was just before 
so quiet. Forth out of every window in those 
dusky, mean wooden houses were thrust heads 
of women, old and young; forth out of every 
door and other avenue, and as if they started up 
from the middle of the street or out of the un- 

6i 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


paved sidewalks, rushed fierce avenging forms, 
threatening at full yell to take vengeance on the 
grim Doctor; who still, with that fierce dark 
face of his, — his muddy beard all flying abroad, 
dirty and foul, his hat fallen off, his red eyes flash¬ 
ing fire, — was belaboring the poor hinder end 
of the unhappy urchin, paying off upon that one 
part of the boy’s frame the whole score which 
he had to settle with the rude boys of the town ; 
giving him at once the whole whipping which 
he had deserved every day of his life, and not 
a stroke of which he had yet received. Need 
enough there was, no doubt, that somebody 
should interfere with such grim and immitiga¬ 
ble justice; and certainly the interference was 
prompt, and promised to be effectual. 

“ Down with the old tyrant! Thrash him ! 
Hang him ! Tar and feather the viper’s fry! 
the wizard ! the body-snatcher 1 ” bellowed the 
mob, one member of which was raving with de¬ 
lirium tremens, and another was a madman just 
escaped from bedlam. 

It is unaccountable where all this mischievous, 
bloodthirsty multitude came from, — how they 
were born into that quietness in such a moment 
of time 1 What had they been about hereto¬ 
fore? Were they waiting in readiness for this 
crisis, and keeping themselves free from other 
employment till it should come to pass ? Had 
they been created for the moment, or were they 
62 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

fiends sent by Satan in the likeness o\ a black¬ 
guard population ? There you might see the 
offscourings of the recently finished war, — old 
soldiers, rusty, wooden-legged; there, sailors, 
ripe for any kind of mischief; there, the drunken 
population of a neighboring grogshop, stagger¬ 
ing helter-skelter to the scene, and tumbling 
over one another at the Doctor's feet. There 
came the father of the punished urchin, who had 
never shown heretofore any care for his street- 
bred progeny, but who now came pale with rage, 
armed with a pair of tongs; and with him the 
mother, flying like a fury, with her cap awry, 
and clutching a broomstick, as if she were a 
witch just alighted. Up they rushed from cel¬ 
lar doors, and dropped down from chamber 
windows; all rushing upon the Doctor, but over¬ 
turning and thwarting themselves by their very 
multitude. For, as good Doctor Grim levelled 
the first that came within reach of his fist, two 
or three of the others tumbled over him and lay 
grovelling at his feet; the Doctor meanwhile 
having retreated into the angle between two 
houses. Little Ned, with a valor which did 
him the more credit inasmuch as it was exer¬ 
cised in spite of a good deal of childish trepida¬ 
tion, as his pale face indicated, brandished his 
fists by the Doctor's side; and little Elsie did 
what any woman may, — that is, screeched in 
Doctor Grim's behalf with full stretch of lungs. 

63 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


Meanwhile the street boys kept up a shower of 
mud-balls, many of which hit the doctor, while 
the rest were distributed upon his assailants, 
heightening their ferocity. 

‘‘ Seize the old scoundrel! the villain ! the 
Tory ! the dastardly Englishman ! Hang him 
in the web of his own devilish spider, — 't is 
long enough ! Tar and feather him ! tar and 
feather him ! ” 

It was certainly one of those crises that show 
a man how few real friends he has, and the tend¬ 
ency of mankind to stand aside, at least, and 
let a poor devil fight his own troubles, if not as¬ 
sist them in their attack. Here you might have 
seen a brother physician of the grim Doctor^s 
greatly tickled at his plight; or a decorous, pow¬ 
dered, ruffle-shirted dignitary, one of the weighty 
men of the town, standing at a neighbor's corner 
to see what would come of it. 

‘‘He is not a respectable man, I understand, 
this Grimshawe, — a quack, intemperate, always 
in these scuffles : let him get out as he may!" 

And then comes a deacon of one of the 
churches, and several church members, who, 
hearing a noise, set out gravely and decorously 
to see what was going forward in a Christian 
community. 

“ Ah ! it is that irreligious and profane Grim¬ 
shawe, who never goes to meeting. We wash 
our hands of him ! " 


64 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


And one of the selectmen said : — 

“ Surely this common brawler ought not to 
have the care of these nice, sweet children; 
something must be done about it; and when 
the man is sober, he must be talked to! ” 

Alas ! it is a hard case with a man who lives 
upon his own bottom and responsibility, making 
himself no allies, sewing himself on to nobody's 
skirts, insulating himself, — hard, when his 
trouble comes ; and so poor Doctor Grim- 
shawe was like to find it. 

He had succeeded by dint of good skill, and 
some previous practice at quarterstaff, in keep¬ 
ing his assailants at bay, though not without 
some danger on his own part; but their num¬ 
ber, their fierceness, and the more skilled assault 
of some among them must almost immediately 
have been successful, when the Doctor's part 
was strengthened by an unexpected ally. This 
was a person ^ of tall, slight figure, who, without 
lifting his hands to take part in the conflict, 
thrust himself before the Doctor, and turned 
towards the assailants, crying : — 

“ Christian men, what would you do ? Peace, 
— peace! " 

His so well-intended exhortation took effect, 
indeed, in a certain way, but not precisely as 
might have been wished; for a blow, aimed at 
Doctor Grim, took effect on the head of this 
man, who seemed to have no sort of skill or 

65 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


alacrity at defending himself, any more than at 
making an assault; for he never lifted his hands, 
but took the blow as unresistingly as if it had 
been kindly meant, and it levelled him sense¬ 
less on the ground. 

Had the mob really been enraged for any 
strenuous cause, this incident would have oper¬ 
ated merely as a preliminary whet to stimulate 
them to further bloodshed. But, as they were 
mostly actuated only by a natural desire for mis¬ 
chief, they were about as well satisfied with what 
had been done as if the Doctor himself were the 
victim. And besides, the fathers and respecta¬ 
bilities of the town, who had seen this mishap 
from afar, now began to put forward, crying out, 
‘‘ Keep the peace! keep the peace ! A riot! a 
riot! ” and other such cries as suited the emer¬ 
gency ; and the crowd vanished more speedily 
than it had congregated, leaving the Doctor and 
the two children alone beside the fallen victim 
of a quarrel not his own. Not to dwell too long 
on this incident, the Doctor, laying hold of the 
last of his enemies, after the rest had taken to 
their heels, ordered him sternly to stay and help 
him bear the man, whom he had helped to mur¬ 
der, to his house. 

“It concerns you, friend ; for, if he dies, you 
hang to a dead certainty ! ” 

And this was done accordingly. 

66 


CHAPTER VI 


About an hour thereafter there lay on a 
couch that had been hastily prepared in 
the study a person of singularly impres¬ 
sive presence : a thin, mild-looking man, with 
a peculiar look of delicacy and natural refinement 
about him, although he scarcely appeared to be 
technically and as to worldly position what we 
call a gentleman; plain in dress and simple 
in manner, not giving the idea of remarkable 
intellectual gifts, but with a kind of spiritual 
aspect, fair, clear complexion, gentle eyes, still 
somewhat clouded and obscured by the syncope 
into which a blow on the head had thrown him. 
He looked middle-aged, and yet there was a 
kind of childlike, simple expression, which, un¬ 
less you looked at him with the very purpose 
of seeing the traces of time in his face, would 
make you suppose him much younger. 

“ And how do you find yourself now, my 
good fellow ? ” asked Doctor Grimshawe, put¬ 
ting forth his hand to grasp that of the stranger, 
and giving it a good, warm shake. “ None the 
worse, I should hope ? ^ 

‘‘ Not much the worse,'* answered the stran¬ 
ger: “ not at all, it may be. There is a plea- 

67 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


sant dimness and uncertainty in my mode of 
being. I am taken off my feet, as it were, and 
float in air, with a faint delight in my sensations. 
The grossness, the roughness, the too great an¬ 
gularity of the actual, is removed from me. It 
is a state that I like well. It may be, this is the 
way that the dead feel when they awake in an¬ 
other state of being, with a dim pleasure, after 
passing through the brief darkness of death. It 
is very pleasant.*' 

He answered dreamily, and sluggishly, reluc¬ 
tantly, as if there were a sense of repose in him 
which he disliked to break by putting any of 
his sensations into words. His voice had a re¬ 
markable sweetness and gentleness, though lack¬ 
ing in depth of melody. 

“ Here, take this," said the Doctor, who had 
been preparing some kind of potion in a tea¬ 
spoon : it may have been a dose of his famous 
preparation of spider's web, for aught I know, 
the operation of which was said to be of a sooth¬ 
ing influence, causing a delightful silkiness of 
sensation ; but I know not whether it was con¬ 
sidered good for concussions of the brain, such 
as it is to be supposed the present patient had 
undergone. ‘‘ Take this : it will do you good; 
and here I drink your very good health in some¬ 
thing that will do me good." 

So saying, the grim Doctor quaffed off a 
tumbler of brandy and water. 

68 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 


‘‘ How sweet a contrast,” murmured the stran¬ 
ger, “ between that scene of violence and this 
great peace that has come over me ! It is as 
when one can say, I have fought the good 
fight.” 

“ You are right,” said the Doctor, with what 
would have been one of his deep laughs, but 
which he modified in consideration of his pa¬ 
tient’s tenderness of brain. “We both of us 
fought a good fight; for though you struck no 
actual stroke, you took them as unflinchingly as 
ever I saw a man, and so turned the fortune of 
the battle better than if you smote with a sledge 
hammer. Two things puzzle me in the affair. 
First, whence came my assailants, all in that 
moment of time, unless Satan let loose out of 
the infernal regions a synod of fiends, hoping 
thus to get a triumph over me. And secondly, 
whence came you, my preserver, unless you are 
an angel, and dropped down from the sky.” 

“ No,” answered the stranger, with quiet sim¬ 
plicity. “ I was passing through the street to 
my little school, when I saw your peril, and 
felt it my duty to expostulate with the people.” 

“ Well,” said the grim Doctor, “ come whence 
you will, you did an angel’s office for me, and I 
shall do what an earthly man may to requite it. 
There, we will talk no more for the present.” 

He hushed up the children, who were al¬ 
ready, of their own accord, walking on tiptoe 
69 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


and whispering, and he himself even went so 
far as to refrain from the usual incense of his 
pipe, having observed that the stranger, who 
seemed to be of a very delicate organization, 
had seemed sensible of the disagreeable effect 
on the atmosphere of the room. The restraint 
lasted, however, only till (in the course of the 
day) crusty Hannah had fitted up a little bed¬ 
room on the opposite side of the entry, to which 
she and the grim Doctor moved the stranger, 
who, though tall, they observed was of no great 
weight and substance, — the lightest man, the 
Doctor averred, for his size, that ever he had 
handled. 

Every possible care was taken of him, and in 
a day or two he was able to walk into the study 
again, where he sat gazing at the sordidness and 
unneatness of the apartment, the strange fes¬ 
toons and drapery of spiders' webs, the gigan¬ 
tic spider himself, and at the grim Doctor, so 
shaggy, grizzly, and uncouth, in the midst of 
these surroundings, with a perceptible sense of 
something very strange in it all. His mild, 
gentle regard dwelt too on the two beautiful 
children, evidently with a sense of quiet wonder 
how they should be here, and altogether a sense 
of their unfitness ; they, meanwhile, stood a lit¬ 
tle apart, looking at him, somewhat disturbed 
and awed, as children usually are, by a sense 
that the stranger was not perfectly well, that he 
70 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


had been injured, and so set apart from the rest 
of the world. 

Will you come to me, little one ? said he, 
holding out a delicate hand to Elsie. 

Elsie came to his side without any hesitation, 
though without any of the rush that accompa¬ 
nied her advent to those whom she affected. 
“ And you, my little man,*’ added the stranger 
quietly, and looking to Ned, who likewise will¬ 
ingly approached, and, shaking him by the of¬ 
fered hand, let it go again, but continued stand¬ 
ing by his side. 

“ Do you know, my little friends,” said the 
stranger, “ that it is my business in life to in¬ 
struct such little people as you ? ” 

‘‘ Do they obey you well, sir?” asked Ned, 
perhaps conscious of a want of force in the per¬ 
son whom he addressed. 

The stranger smiled faintly. Not too well,” 
said he. “ That has been my difficulty; for I 
have moral and religious objections, and also a 
great horror, to the use of the rod, and I have 
not been gifted with a harsh voice and a stern 
brow; so that, after a while, my little people 
sometimes get the better of me. The present 
generation of men is too gross for gentle treat¬ 
ment.” 

‘‘ You are quite right,” quoth Doctor Grim- 
shawe, who had been observing this little scene, 
and trying to make out, from the mutual de- 

71 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 


portment of the stranger and the two children, 
what sort of man this fair, quiet stranger was, 
with his gentleness and weakness, — character¬ 
istics that were not attractive to himself, yet in 
which he acknowledged, as he saw them here, 
a certain charm; nor did he know, scarcely, 
whether to despise the one in whom he saw 
them, or to yield to a strange sense of reverence. 
So he watched the children, with an indistinct 
idea of being guided by them. ‘‘You are quite 
right: the world now — and always before, as 
far as I ever heard — requires a great deal of 
brute force, a great deal of animal food and 
brandy in the man that is to make an impres¬ 
sion on it.*' 

The convalescence of the stranger— he gave 
his name as Colcord — proceeded favorably ; 
for the Doctor remarked that, delicate as his 
system was, it had a certain purity, — a simple 
healthfulness that did not run into disease as 
stronger constitutions might. It did not appar¬ 
ently require much to crush down such a being 
as this, — not much unkindly breath to blow 
out the taper of his life, — and yet, if not abso¬ 
lutely killed, there was a certain aptness to keep 
alive in him not readily to be overcome. 

No sooner was he in a condition so to do, 
than he went forth to look after the little school 
that he had spoken of, but soon came back, 
announcing in a very quiet and undisturbed 
72 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 

way that, during his withdrawal from duty, the 
scholars had been distributed to other instruc¬ 
tors, and consequently he was without place or 
occupation.^ 

‘‘ A hard case,” said the Doctor, flinging a 
gruff curse at those who had so readily deserted 
the poor schoolmaster, 

‘‘Not so hard,” replied Colcord. “These 
little fellows are an unruly set, born of parents 
who have led rough lives, — here in battle time, 
too, with the spirit of battle in them,— there¬ 
fore rude and contentious beyond my power to 
cope with them. I have been taught, long 
ago,” he added, with a peaceful smile, “ that 
my business in life does not lie with grown-up 
and consolidated men and women; and so, not 
to be useless in my day, and to gain the little 
that my sustenance requires, I have thought to 
deal with children. But even for this I lack 
force.” 

“ I dare say,” said the Doctor, with'a inodi- 
fied laugh. “ Little devils they are, harder to 
deal with than men. Well, I am glad of your 
failure for one reason, and of your being thrown 
out of business ; because we shall have the bene¬ 
fit of you the longer. Here is this boy to be in¬ 
structed. I have made some attempts myself; 
but having no art of instructing, no skill, no 
temper I suppose, I make but an indifferent 
hand at it: and besides I have other business 
73 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


that occupies my thoughts. Take him in hand, 
if you like, and the girl for company. No mat¬ 
ter whether you teach her anything, unless you 
happen to be acquainted with needlework.” 

I will talk with the children,” said Colcord, 
“ and see if I am likely to do good with them. 
The lad, I see, has a singular spirit of aspiration 
and pride, — no ungentle pride, but still hard 
to cope with. 1 will see. The little girl is a 
most comfortable child.” 

“ You have read the boy as if you had his 
heart in your hand,” said the Doctor, rather 
surprised. “ I could not have done it better 
myself, though I have known him all but from 
the egg.” 

Accordingly, the stranger, who had been thrust 
so providentially into this odd and insulated lit¬ 
tle community, abode with them, without more 
words being spoken on the subject; for it seemed 
to all concerned a natural arrangement, although, 
on both parts, they were mutually sensible of 
something strange in the companionship thus 
brought about. To say the truth, it was not 
easy to imagine two persons apparently less 
adapted to each other’s society than the rough, 
uncouth, animal Doctor, whose faith was in his 
own right arm, so full of the old Adam as he 
was, so sturdily a hater, so hotly impulsive, so 
deep, subtle, and crooked, so obstructed by his 
animal nature, so given to his pipe and black 
74 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


bottle, so wrathful and pugnacious and wicked, 
— and this mild, spiritual creature, so milky, 
with so unforceful a grasp; and it was singular 
to see how they stood apart and eyed each other, 
each tacitly acknowledging a certain merit and 
kind of power, though not well able to appre¬ 
ciate its value. The grim Doctor’s kindness, 
however, and gratitude, had been so thoroughly 
awakened, that he did not feel the disgust that 
he probably otherwise might at what seemed the 
mawkishness of Colcord’s character; his want, 
morally speaking, of bone and muscle; his fas¬ 
tidiousness of character, the essence of which it 
seemed to be to bear no stain upon it; other¬ 
wise it must die. 

On Colcord’s part there was a good deal of 
evidence to be detected, by a nice observer, that 
he found it difficult to put up with the Doctor’s 
coarse peculiarities, whether physical or moral. 
His animal indulgences of appetite struck him 
with wonder and horror; his coarse expressions, 
his free indulgence of wrath, his sordid and un¬ 
clean habits ; the dust, the cobwebs, the monster 
that dangled from the ceiling; his pipe, diffus¬ 
ing its fragrance through the house, and show¬ 
ing, by the plainest and simplest proof, how we 
all breathe one another’s breath, nice and proud 
as we may be, kings and daintiest ladies breath¬ 
ing the air that has already served to inflate a 
beggar’s lungs. He shrank, too, from the rude 
75 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 

manhood of the doctor’s character, with its 
human warmth, — an element which he seemed 
not to possess in his own character. He was 
capable only of gentle and mild regard, — that 
was his warmest affection; and the warmest, 
too, that he was capable of exciting in others. 
So that he was doomed as much apparently as 
the Doctor himself to be a lonely creature, with¬ 
out any very deep companionship in the world, 
though not incapable, when he, by some rare 
chance, met a soul distantly akin, of holding a 
certain high spiritual communion. With the 
children, however, he succeeded in establishing 
some good and available relations; his simple 
and passionless character coincided with their 
simplicity, and their as yet unawakened pas¬ 
sions : they appeared to understand him better 
than the Doctor ever succeeded in doing. He 
touched springs and elements in the nature of 
both that had never been touched till now, and 
that sometimes made a sweet, high music. But 
this was rarely ; and as far as the general duties 
of an instructor went, they did not seem to be 
very successfully performed. Something was 
cultivated; the spiritual germ grew, it might 
be; but the children, and especially Ned, were 
intuitively conscious of a certain want of sub¬ 
stance in the instructor, —a something of earthly 
bulk ; a too etherealness. But his connection 
with our story does not lie in any excellence, or 
7b 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

lack of excellence, that he showed as an in¬ 
structor, and we merely mention these things 
as illustrating more or less his characteristics. 

The grim Doctor’s curiosity was somewhat 
piqued by what he could see of the schoolmas¬ 
ter’s character, and he was desirous of finding 
out what sort of a life such a man could have 
led in a world which he himself had found so 
rough a one ; through what difficulties he had 
reached middle age without absolutely vanish¬ 
ing away in his contact with more positive sub¬ 
stances than himself; how the world had given 
him a subsistence, if indeed he recognized any¬ 
thing more dense than fragrance, like a certain 
people whom Pliny mentioned in Africa, — a 
point, in fact, which the grim Doctor denied, 
his performance at table being inappreciable, 
and confined, at least almost entirely, to a dish 
of boiled rice, which crusty Hannah set before 
him, preparing it, it might be, with a sympathy 
of her East Indian part towards him. 

Well, Doctor Grimshawe easily got at what 
seemed to be all of the facts of Colcord’s life; how 
that he was a New Englander, the descendant 
of an ancient race of settlers, the last of them ; 
for, once pretty numerous in their quarter of the 
country, they seemed to have been dying out, 
— exhaling from the earth, and passing to some 
other region. 

“No wonder,” said the Doctor bluffly. “ You 

77 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


have been letting slip the vital principle, if you 
are a fair specimen of the race. You do not 
clothe yourself in substance. Your souls are 
not coated sufficiently. Beef and brandy would 
have saved you. You have exhaled for lack of 
them.’’ 

The schoolmaster shook his head, and prob¬ 
ably thought his earthly salvation and suste¬ 
nance not worth buying at such a cost. The 
remainder of his history was not tangible enough 
to afford a narrative. There seemed, from what 
he said, to have always been a certain kind of 
refinement in his race, a nicety of conscience, 
a nicety of habit, which either was in itself a 
want of force, or was necessarily connected with 
it, and which, the Doctor silently thought, had 
culminated in the person before him. 

It was always in us,” continued Colcord, 
with a certain pride which people generally feel 
in their ancestral characteristics, be they good or 
evil. “We had a tradition among us of our first 
emigrant, and the causes that brought him to the 
New World; and it was said that he had suf¬ 
fered so much, before quitting his native shores, 
so painful had been his track, that always after¬ 
wards on the forest leaves of this land his foot 
left a print of blood wherever he trod.” ® 

78 


CHAPTER VII 


A PRINT of blood ! ** said the grim Doc¬ 
tor, breaking his pipestem by some 
sudden spasm in his gripe of it. “ Pooh ! 
the devil take the pipe! A very strange story 
that! Pray how was it ? ” ^ 

‘‘ Nay, it is but a very dim legend,” answered 
the schoolmaster: ‘‘although there are old yel¬ 
low papers and parchments, I remember, in my 
father's possession, that had some reference to 
this man, too, though there was nothing in them 
about the bloody footprints. But our family 
legend is, that this man was of a good race, in 
the time of Charles the First, originally Papists, 
but one of them — the second son, our legend 
says — was of a milder, sweeter cast than the 
rest, who were fierce and bloody men, of a hard, 
strong nature; but he partook most of his 
mother's character. This son had been one of 
the earliest Quakers, converted by George Fox ; 
and moreover there had been love between him 
and a young lady of great beauty and an heiress, 
whom likewise the eldest son of the house had 
designed to make his wife. And these brothers, 
cruel men, caught their innocent brother and 
79 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


kept him in confinement long in his own native 
home ” — 

“ How ? asked the Doctor. ‘‘ Why did not 
he appeal to the laws ? ” 

“ Our legend says,” replied the schoolmaster, 
only that he was kept in a chamber that was 
forgotten.” ^ 

‘‘Very strange that!” quoth the Doctor. 
“ He was sold by his brethren.” 

The schoolmaster went on to tell, with much 
shuddering, how a Jesuit priest had been mixed 
up with this wretched business, and there had 
been a scheme at once religious and political to 
wrest the estate and the lovely lady from the 
fortunate heir; and how this grim Italian priest 
had instigated them to use a certain kind of 
torture with the poor heir, and how he had suf¬ 
fered from this; but one night, when they left him 
senseless, he contrived to make his escape from 
that cruel home, bleeding as he went; and how, 
by some action of his imagination,— his sense 
of the cruelty and hideousness of such treatment 
at his brethren’s hands, and in the holy name of 
his religion, — his foot, which had been crushed 
by their cruelty, bled as he went, and that blood 
had never been stanched. And thus he had 
come to America, and, after many wanderings, 
and much track of blood along rough ways, to 
New England.^ 


8o 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


‘‘ And what became of his beloved ? asked 
the grim Doctor, who was puffing away at a fresh 
pipe with a very queer aspect. 

“ She died in England,’' replied the school¬ 
master. “ And before her death, by some means 
or other, they say that she found means to send 
him a child, the offspring of their marriage, and 
from that child our race descended. And they 
say, too, that she sent him a key to a coffin, in 
which was locked up a great treasure. But we 
have not the key. But he never went back to 
his own country; and being heart-broken, and 
sick and weary of the world and its pomps and 
vanities, he died here, after suffering much per¬ 
secution likewise from the Puritans. For his 
peaceful religion was accepted nowhere.” 

“ Of all legends, — all foolish legends,” — 
quoth the Doctor wrathfully, with a face of a 
dark blood-red color, so much was his anger and 
contempt excited, “ and of all absurd heroes of 
a legend, I never heard the like of this ! Have 
you the key ? ” 

‘‘ No : nor have I ever heard of it,” answered 
the schoolmaster. 

“ But you have some papers ? ” 

They existed once: perhaps are still re¬ 
coverable by search,” said the schoolmaster. 
‘‘ My father knew of them.” 

‘‘A foolish legend,” reiterated the Doctor. 

8i 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


“It is strange how human folly strings itself on 
to human folly, as a story originally false and 
foolish grows older.” 

He got up and walked about the room, with 
hasty and irregular strides and a prodigious 
swinging of his ragged dressing gown, which 
swept away as many cobwebs as it would take a 
week to reproduce. After a few turns, as if to 
change the subject, the Doctor asked the school¬ 
master if he had any taste for pictures, and drew 
his attention to the portrait which has been al¬ 
ready mentioned, — the figure in antique sordid 
garb, with a halter round his neck, and the ex¬ 
pression in his face which the Doctor and the 
two children had interpreted so differently. Col- 
cord, who probably knew nothing about pictures, 
looked at it at first merely from the gentle and 
cool complaisance of his character; but becom¬ 
ing absorbed in the contemplation, stood long 
without speaking; until the Doctor, looking in 
his face, perceived his eyes were streaming with 
tears. 

“ What are you crying about ? ” said he 
gruffly. 

“ I don’t know,” said the schoolmaster qui¬ 
etly. “ But there is something in this picture 
that affects me inexpressibly; so that, not be¬ 
ing a man passionate by nature, I have hardly 
ever been so moved as now! ” 

“ Very foolish,” muttered the Doctor, re- 
82 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


suming his strides about the room. “ I am 
ashamed of a grown man that can cry at a pic¬ 
ture, and can’t tell the reason why.” 

After a few more turns he resumed his easy- 
chair and his tumbler, and, looking upward, 
beckoned to his pet spider, which came dan¬ 
gling downward, great parti-colored monster 
that he was, and swung about his master’s head 
in hideous conference as it seemed ; a sight that 
so distressed the schoolmaster, or shocked his 
delicate taste, that he went out, and called the 
two children to take a walk with him, with the 
purpose of breathing air that was neither in¬ 
fected with spiders nor graves. 

After his departure. Doctor Grimshawe 
seemed even more disturbed than during his 
presence: again he strode about the study; 
then sat down with his hands on his knees, 
looking straight into the fire, as if it imaged 
the seething element of his inner man, where 
burned hot projects, smoke, heat, blackness, 
ashes, a smouldering of old thoughts, a blazing 
up of new; casting in the gold of his mind, as 
Aaron did that of the Israelites, and waiting to 
see what sort of a thing would come out of the 
furnace. The children coming in from their 
play, he spoke harshly to them, and eyed little 
Ned with a sort of savageness, as if he meant to 
eat him up, or do some other dreadful deed : 
and when little Elsie came with her usual frank- 

83 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


ness to his knee, he repelled her in such a way 
that she shook her little hand at him, saying, 
‘‘Naughty Doctor Grim, what has come to 
you ? 

Through all that day, by some subtle means 
or other, the whole household knew that some¬ 
thing was amiss; and nobody in it was com¬ 
fortable. ''It was like a spell of weather; like 
the east wind ; like an epidemic in the air, that 
would not let anything be comfortable or con¬ 
tented, — this pervading temper of the Doctor. 
Crusty Hannah knew it in the kitchen; even 
those who passed the house must have known 
it somehow or other, and have felt a chill, an 
irritation, an influence on the nerves, as they 
passed. The spiders knew it, and acted as they 
were wont to do in stormy weather. The 
schoolmaster, when he returned from his walk, 
seemed likewise to know it, and made himself 
secure and secret, keeping in his own room, ex¬ 
cept at dinner, when he ate his rice in silence, 
without looking towards the Doctor, and ap¬ 
peared before him no more till evening, when 
the grim Doctor summoned him into the study, 
after sending the two children to bed. 

“ Sir,” began the Doctor, “ you have spoken 
of some old documents in your possession re¬ 
lating to the English descent of your ancestors. 
I have a curiosity to see these documents. 
Where are they ? ” * 


84 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


I have them about my person,” said the 
schoolmaster ; and he produced from his pocket 
a bundle of old yellow papers done up in a 
parchment cover, tied with a piece of white 
cord, and presented them to Doctor Grimshawe, 
who looked over them with interest. They 
seemed to consist of letters, genealogical lists, 
certified copies of entries in registers, things 
which must have been made out by somebody 
who knew more of business than this ethereal 
person in whose possession they now were. 
The Doctor looked at them with considerable 
attention, and at last did them hastily up in 
the bundle again, and returned them to the 
owner. 

Have you any idea what is now the condi¬ 
tion of the family to whom these papers refer ? ” 
asked he. 

‘‘ None whatever,— none for almost a hun¬ 
dred years,” said the schoolmaster. ‘‘ About 
that time ago, I have heard a vague story that 
one of my ancestors went to the old country 
and saw the place. But, you see, the change 
of name has effectually covered us from view; 
and I feel that our true name is that which 
my ancestor assumed when he was driven forth 
from the home of his fathers, and that I have 
nothing to do with any other. I have no views 
on the estate, — none whatever. I am not so 
foolish and dreamy.” 


85 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

‘‘Very right/* said the Doctor. “Nothing 
is more foolish than to follow up such a pur¬ 
suit as this, against all the vested interests of 
two hundred years, which of themselves have 
built up an impenetrably strong allegation 
against you. They harden into stone, in Eng¬ 
land, these years, and become indestructible, 
instead of melting away as they do in this happy 
country.** 

“It is not a matter of interest with me,** 
replied the schoolmaster. 

“Very right, — very right!** repeated the 
grim Doctor. 

But something was evidently amiss with him 
this evening. It was impossible to feel easy 
and comfortable in contact with him : if you 
looked in his face, there was the red, lurid glare 
of his eyes ; meeting you fiercely and craftily as 
ever : sometimes he bit his lip and frowned in 
an awful manner. Once, he burst out into an 
awful fit of swearing, for no good reason, or 
any reason whatever that he explained, or that 
anybody could tell. Again, for no more suit¬ 
able reason, he uplifted his stalwart arm, and 
smote a heavy blow with his fist upon the oak 
table, making the tumbler and black bottle leap 
up, and damaging, one would think, his own 
knuckles. Then he rose up, and resumed his 
strides about the room. He paused before the 
portrait before mentioned ; then resumed his 
86 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


heavy, quick, irregular tread, swearing under 
his breath ; and you would imagine, from what 
you heard, that all his thoughts and the move¬ 
ment of his mind were a blasphemy. Then 
again — but this was only once — he heaved a 
deep, ponderous sigh, that seemed to come up 
in spite of him, out of his depths, an exhalation 
of deep suffering, as if some convulsion had 
given it a passage to upper air, instead of its 
being hidden, as it generally was, by accumu¬ 
lated rubbish of later time heaped above it. 

This latter sound appealed to something 
within the simple schoolmaster, who had been 
witnessing the demeanor of the Doctor, like a 
being looking from another sphere into the 
trouble of the mortal one ; a being incapable 
of passion, observing the mute, hard struggle of 
one in its grasp. 

“ Friend,*' said he at length, ‘‘ thou hast 
something on thy mind.” 

‘‘ Aye,” said the grim Doctor, coming to a 
stand before his chair. “ You see that ? Can 
you see as well what it is ? ** 

Some stir and writhe of something in the 
past that troubles you, as if you had kept a 
snake for many years in your bosom, and stu¬ 
pefied it with brandy, and now it awakes again, 
and troubles you with bites and stings.” 

‘‘ What sort of a man do you think me ? ** 
asked the Doctor. 


87 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


I cannot tell/* said the schoolmaster. ‘‘ The 
sympathies of my nature are not those that 
should give me knowledge of such men.** 

‘‘Am I, think you/* continued the grim 
Doctor, “ a man capable of great crime ? ** 

“ A great one, if any,** said Colcord; “ a 
great good, likewise, it might be.** 

“ what would I be likely to do,** asked Doc¬ 
tor Grim, “supposing I had a darling purpose, 
to the accomplishment of which I had given my 
soul, — yes, my soul, — my success in life, my 
days and nights of thought, my years of time, 
dwelling upon it, pledging myself to it, until at 
last I had grown to love the burden of it, and 
not to regret my own degradation ? I, a man 
of strongest will. What would I do, if this were 
to be resisted ? ** 

“ I do not conceive of the force of will shap¬ 
ing out my ways,** said the schoolmaster. “ I 
walk gently along and take the path that opens 
before me.** 

“ Ha ! ha ! ha ! ** shouted the grim Doctor, 
with one of his portentous laughs. “ So do we 
all, in spite of ourselves ; and sometimes the 
path comes to a sudden ending ! ** And he re¬ 
sumed his drinking. 

The schoolmaster looked at him with won¬ 
der, and a kind of shuddering, at something so 
unlike himself; but probably he very imper¬ 
fectly estimated the forces that were at work 
88 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


within this strange being, and how dangerous 
they made him. He imputed it, a great deal, 
to the brandy, which he had kept drinking in 
such inordinate quantities; whereas it is prob¬ 
able that this had a soothing, emollient effect, 
as far as it went, on the Doctor's emotions ; a 
sort of like to like, that he instinctively felt to 
be a remedy. But in truth it was difficult to 
see these two human creatures together, with¬ 
out feeling their incompatibility ; without hav¬ 
ing a sense that one must be hostile to the 
other. The schoolmaster, through his fine in¬ 
stincts, doubtless had a sense of this, and sat 
gazing at the lurid, wrathful figure of the Doc¬ 
tor, in a sort of trance and fascination : not able 
to stir; bewildered by the sight of the great 
spider and other surroundings ; and this strange, 
uncouth fiend, who had always been abhorrent 
to him, — he had a kind of curiosity in it, 
waited to see what would come of it, but felt it 
to be an unnatural state to him. And again the 
grim Doctor came and stood before him, pre¬ 
pared to make another of those strange utter¬ 
ances with which he had already so perplexed 
him. 

That night — that midnight—it was ru¬ 
mored through the town that one of the inhab¬ 
itants, going home late along the street that led 
by the graveyard, saw the grim Doctor standing 
by the open window of the study behind the 
89 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 

elm-tree, in his old dressing gown, chill as was 
the night, and flinging his arms abroad wildly 
into the darkness, and muttering like the growl¬ 
ing of a tempest, with occasional vociferations 
that grew even shrill with passion. The lis¬ 
tener, though affrighted, could not resist an im¬ 
pulse to pause, and attempt overhearing some¬ 
thing that might let him into the secret counsels 
of this strange wild man, whom the town held 
in such awe and antipathy; to learn, perhaps, 
what was the great spider, and whether he were 
summoning the dead out of their graves. How¬ 
ever, he could make nothing out of what he 
overheard, except it were fragmentary curses, of 
a dreadful character, which the Doctor brought 
up with might and main out of the depths of his 
soul and flung them forth, burning hot, aimed 
at what, and why, and to what practical end, it 
was impossible to say; but as necessarily as a 
volcano, in a state of eruption, sends forth boil¬ 
ing lava, sparkling and scintillating stones, and 
a sulphurous atmosphere, indicative of its in¬ 
ward state.® 

Dreading lest some one of these ponderous 
anathemas should alight, reason or none, on his 
own head, the man crept away, and whispered 
the thing to his cronies, from whom it was com¬ 
municated to the townspeople at large, and so 
became one of many stories circulating with 
90 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


reference to our grim hero, which, if not true to 
the fact, had undoubtedly a degree of apposite¬ 
ness to his character, of which they were the 
legitimate flowers and symbols. If the anathe¬ 
mas took no other effect, they seemed to have 
produced a very remarkable one on the unfor¬ 
tunate elm-tree, through the naked branches of 
which the Doctor discharged this fiendish shot. 
For, the next spring, when April came, no ten¬ 
der leaves budded forth, no life awakened there ; 
and never again, on that old elm, widely as its 
roots were imbedded among the dead of many 
years, was there rustling bough in the summer 
time, or the elm’s early golden boughs in Sep¬ 
tember; and after waiting till another spring 
to give it a fair chance of reviving, it was cut 
down and made into coffins, and burnt on the 
sexton’s hearth. The general opinion was that 
the grim Doctor’s awful profanity had blasted 
that tree, fostered, as it had been, on grave- 
mould of Puritans. In Lancashire they tell of 
a similar anathema. It had a very frightful 
effect, it must be owned, this idea of a man 
cherishing emotions in his breast of so horrible 
a nature that he could neither tell them to any 
human being, nor keep them in their plenitude 
and intensity within the breast where they had 
their germ, and so was forced to fling them 
forth upon the night, to pollute and put fear 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


into the atmosphere, and that people should 
breathe in somewhat of horror from an un¬ 
known source, and be affected with nightmare, 
and dreams in which they were startled at their 
own wickedness. 


92 


CHAPTER VIII 


AT the breakfast table the next morning, 
/-A however, appeared Doctor Grimshawe, 
^ wearing very much the same aspect of 
an uncombed, unshorn, unbrushed, odd sort of 
a pagan as at other times, and making no differ¬ 
ence in his breakfast, except that he poured a 
pretty large dose of brandy into his cup of tea; 
a thing, however, by no means unexampled or 
very unusual in his history. There were also 
the two children, fresher than the morning it¬ 
self, rosy creatures, with newly scrubbed cheeks, 
made over again for the new day, though the 
old one had left no dust upon them ; ^ laughing 
with one another, flinging their little jokes about 
the table, and expecting that the Doctor might, 
as was often his wont, set some ponderous old 
English joke trundling round among the break¬ 
fast cups; eating the corn cakes which crusty 
Hannah, with the aboriginal part of her, had a 
knack of making in a peculiar and exquisite 
fashion. But there was an empty chair at table; 
one cup, one little jug of milk, and another of 
pure water, with no guest to partake of them. 

“Where is the schoolmaster?’' said Ned, 
pausing as he was going to take his seat. 

93 


f 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 


“ Yes, Doctor Grim ? said little Elsie. 

“He has overslept himself for once,” quoth 
Doctor Grim gruffly ; “ a strange thing, too, 
for a man whose victuals and drink are so light 
as the schoolmaster's. The fiend take me if I 
thought he had mortal mould enough in him 
ever to go to sleep at all ; though he is but a 
kind of dream-stuff in his widest-awake state. 
Hannah, you bronze jade, call the schoolmas¬ 
ter to come to breakfast.” 

Hannah departed on her errand, and was 
heard knocking at the door of the schoolmas¬ 
ter’s chamber several times, till the Doctor 
shouted to her wrathfully to cease her clatter 
and open the door at once, which she appeared 
to do, and speedily came back. 

“ He no there, massa. Schoolmaster melted 
away ! ” 

“ Vanished like a bubble ! ” quoth the Doc¬ 
tor. 

“ The great spider caught him like a fly,” 
quoth crusty Hannah, chuckling with a sense 
of mischief that seemed very pleasant to her 
strange combination. 

“ He has taken a morning walk,” said little 
Ned ; “ don’t you think so. Doctor Grim ? ” 

“ Yes,” said the grim Doctor. “ Go on with 
your breakfast, little monkey; the walk may be 
a long one, or he is so slight a weight that the 
wind may blow him overboard.” 

94 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


A v-ery long walk It proved ; or it might be 
that some wind, whether evil or good, had blown 
him, as the Doctor suggested, into parts un¬ 
known ; for, from that time forth, the Yankee 
schoolmaster returned no more. It was a sin¬ 
gular disappearance. The bed did not appear 
to have been slept in ; there was a bundle, in 
a clean handkerchief, containing two shirts, two 
pocket handkerchiefs, two pairs of cotton socks, 
a Testament, and that was all. Had he in¬ 
tended to go away, why did he not take this 
little luggage in his hand, being all he had, and 
of a kind not easily dispensed with ? The 
Doctor made small question about it, how¬ 
ever ; he had seemed surprised, at first, yet 
gave certainly no energetic token of it; and 
when Ned, who began to have notions of things, 
proposed to advertise him in the newspapers, 
or send the town crier round, the Doctor ridi¬ 
culed the idea unmercifully. 

Lost, a lank Yankee schoolmaster,” quoth 
he, uplifting his voice after the manner of the 
town crier; “ supposed to have been blown out 
of Doctor Grim’s window, or perhaps have rid¬ 
den off astride of a bumblebee.” 

‘‘It is not pretty to laugh in that way. Doc¬ 
tor Grim,” said little Elsie, looking into his face, 
with a grave shake of her head. 

“ And why not, you saucy little witch ? ” said 
the Doctor. 


95 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


“It is not the way to laugh, Doctor Grim,” 
persisted the child, but either could not or would 
not assign any reason for her disapprobation, 
although what she said appeared to produce a 
noticeable effect on Doctor Grimshawe, who 
lapsed into a rough, harsh manner, that seemed 
to satisfy Elsie better. Crusty Hannah, mean¬ 
while, seemed to dance about the house with a 
certain singular alacrity, a wonderful friskiness, 
indeed, as if the diabolical result of the mixture 
in her nature was particularly pleased with some¬ 
thing; so she went, with queer gesticulations, 
crossings, contortions, friskings, evidently in a 
very mirthful state ; until, being asked by her 
master what was the matter, she replied, “ Massa, 
me know what became of the schoolmaster. 
Great spider catch in his web and eat him ! ” 
Whether that was the mode of his disappear¬ 
ance, or some other, certainly the schoolmaster 
was gone ; and the children were left in great 
bewilderment at the sudden vacancy in his place. 
They had not contracted a very yearning affec¬ 
tion for him, and yet his impression had been 
individual and real, and they felt that something 
was gone out of their lives, now that he was no 
longer there. Something strange in their cir¬ 
cumstances made itself felt by them ; they were 
more sensible of the grim Doctor's uncouthness, 
his strange, reprehensible habits, his dark, mys¬ 
terious life, — in looking at these things, and 
96 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

the spiders, and the graveyard, and their insu¬ 
lation from the world, through the crystal me¬ 
dium of this stranger's character. In remember¬ 
ing him in connection with these things, a certain 
seemly beauty in him showed strikingly the 
unfitness, the sombre and tarnished color, the 
outreness, of the rest of their lot. Little Elsie 
perhaps felt the loss of him more than her play¬ 
mate, although both had been interested by him. 
But now things returned pretty much to their 
old fashion ; although, as is inevitably the case, 
whenever persons or things have been taken 
suddenly or unaccountably out of our sphere, 
without telling us whither and why they have 
disappeared, the children could not, for a long 
while, bring themselves to feel that he had really 
gone. Perhaps, in imitation of the custom in 
that old English house, of which the Doctor had 
told them, little Elsie insisted that his place 
should still be kept at the table ; and so, when¬ 
ever crusty Hannah neglected to do so, she 
herself would fetch a plate, and a little pitcher 
of water, and set it beside a vacant chair; and 
sometimes, so like a shadow had he been, this 
pale, slender creature, it almost might have been 
thought that he was sitting with them. But 
crusty Hannah shook her head, and grinned. 
‘^.The spider know where he is. We never see 
him more ! " 

His abode in the house had been of only two 
97 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


or three weeks; and in the natural course of 
things, had he come and gone in an ordinary- 
way, his recollection would have grown dim and 
faded out in two or three weeks more ; but the 
speculations, the expectations, the watchings for 
his reappearance, served to cut and grave the 
recollection of him into the children’s hearts, so 
that it remained a lifelong thing with them, — 
a sense that he was something that had been 
lost out of their life too soon, and that was 
bound, sooner or later, to reappear, and finish 
what business he had with them. Sometimes 
they prattled around the Doctor’s chair about 
him, and they could perceive sometimes that he 
appeared to be listening, and would chime in 
with some remark; but he never expressed 
either wonder or regret; only telling Ned, once, 
that he had no reason to be sorry for his disap¬ 
pearance. 

‘‘ Why, Doctor Grim ? ” asked the boy. 

The Doctor mused, and smoked his pipe, as 
if he himself were thinking why, and at last he 
answered, ‘‘He was a dangerous fellow, my old 
boy.” 

“ Why ? ” said Ned again. 

“ He would have taken the beef out of you,” 
said the Doctor. 

I know not how long it was before any other 
visitor (except such as brought their shattered 
constitutions there in hopes that the Doctor 
98 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

would make the worn-out machinery as good as 
new) came to the lonely little household on the 
corner of the graveyard. The intercourse be¬ 
tween themselves and the rest of the town re¬ 
mained as scanty as ever. Still, the grim, shaggy 
Doctor was seen setting doggedly forth, in all 
seasons and all weathers, at a certain hour of 
the day, with the two children, going for long 
walks on the seashore, or into the country, miles 
away, and coming back, hours afterwards, with 
plants and herbs that had perhaps virtue in 
them, or flowers that had certainly beauty; even, 
in their season, the fragrant magnolias, leaving 
a trail of fragrance after them, that grow only in 
spots, the seeds having been apparently dropped 
by some happy accident when those proper to 
the climate were distributed. Shells there were, 
also, in the baskets that they carried, minerals, 
rare things, that a magic touch seemed to have 
created out of the rude and common things that 
others find in a homely and ordinary region. 
The boy was growing tall, and had got out of 
the merely infantile age; agile he was, bright, 
but still with a remarkable thoughtfulness, or 
gravity, or I know not what to call it; but it 
was a shadow, no doubt, falling upon him from 
something sombre in his warp of life, which the 
impressibility of his age and nature so far ac¬ 
knowledged as to be a little pale and grave, 
without positive unhappiness ; and when a play- 
99 


L.of C. 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


ful moment came, as they often did to these two 
healthy children, it seemed all a mistake that 
you had ever thought either of them too grave 
for their age. But little Elsie was still , the mer¬ 
rier. They were still children, although they 
quarrelled seldomer than of yore, and kissed sel- 
domer, and had ceased altogether to complain 
of one another to the Doctor ; perhaps the time 
when Nature saw these bickerings to be neces¬ 
sary to the growth of some of their faculties was 
nearly gone. When they did have a quarrel, the 
boy stood upon his dignity, and visited Elsie 
with a whole day, sometimes, of silent and stately 
displeasure, which she was accustomed to bear, 
sometimes with an assumption of cold indiffer¬ 
ence, sometimes with liveliness, mirth in double 
quantity, laughter almost as good as real, — little 
arts which showed themselves in her as natu¬ 
rally as the gift of tears and smiles. In fact, hav¬ 
ing no advantage of female intercourse, she could 
not well have learnt them unless from crusty 
Hannah, who was such an anomaly of a crea¬ 
ture, with all her mixture of races, that she 
struck you as having lost all sex as one result 
of it. Yet this little girl was truly feminine, 
and had all the manners and preeminently un- 
criticisable tenets proper to women at her early 
age. 

She had made respectable advancement in 
study; that is, she had taught herself to write, , 
100 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


with even greater mechanical facility than Ned ; 
and other knowledge had fallen upon her, as it 
were, by a reflected light from him; or, to use 
another simile, had been spattered upon her by 
the full stream which the Doctor poured into 
the vessel of the boy’s intellect. So that she 
had even some knowledge of the rudiments of 
Latin, and geometry, and algebra ; inaccurate 
enough, but yet with such a briskness that she 
was sometimes able to assist Ned in studies in 
which he was far more deeply grounded than 
herself. All this, however, was more by sym¬ 
pathy than by any natural taste for such things ; 
being kindly, and sympathetic, and impressible, 
she took the color of what was nearest to her, 
and especially when it came from a beloved ob¬ 
ject, so that it was difficult to discover that it was 
not really one of her native tastes. The only 
thing, perhaps, altogether suited to her idiosyn¬ 
crasy (because it was truly feminine, calculated 
for dainty fingers, and a nice little subtlety) was 
that kind of embroidery, twisting, needlework, 
on textile fabric, which, as we have before said, 
she learnt from crusty Hannah, and which was 
emblematic perhaps of that creature’s strange 
mixture of races. 

Elsie seemed not only to have caught this art 
in its original spirit, but to have improved upon 
it, creating strange, fanciful, and graceful de¬ 
vices, which grew beneath her finger as naturally 

lOI 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


as the variegated hues grow in a flower as it 
opens; so that the homeliest material assumed a 
grace and strangeness as she wove it, whether it 
were grass,^^twigs, shells, or what not. Never 
was anything seen, that so combined a wild, bar¬ 
barian freedom with cultivated grace ; and the 
grim Doctor himself, little open to the impres¬ 
sions of the beautiful, used to hold some of her 
productions in his hand, gazing at them with 
deep intentness, and at last, perhaps, breaking 
out into one of his deep roars of laughter ; for 
it seemed to suggest thoughts to him that the 
children could not penetrate. This one feature 
of strangeness and wild faculty in the otherwise 
sweet and natural and homely character of Elsie 
had a singular effect; it was like a wreath of 
wild flowers in her hair, like something that set 
her a little way apart from the rest of the world, 
and had an even more striking effect than if she 
were altogether strange. 

Thus were the little family going on ; the 
Doctor, I regret to say, growing more morose, 
self-involved, and unattainable since the disap¬ 
pearance of the schoolmaster than before ; more 
given up to his one plaything, the great spider; 
less frequently even than before coming out of 
the grim seclusion of his moodiness, to play with 
the children, though they would often be sensi¬ 
ble of his fierce eyes fixed upon them, and start 
102 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


and feel incommoded by the intensity of his 
regard; — thus things were going on, when one 
day there was really again a visitor, and not a 
dilapidated patient, to the grim Doctor's study. 
Crusty Hannah brought up his name as Mr. 
Hammond, and the Doctor — filling his ever¬ 
lasting pipe, meanwhile, and ordering Hannah 
to give him a coal (perhaps this was the circum¬ 
stance that made people say he had imps to 
bring him coals from Tophet) — ordered him 
to be shown up.^ 

A fresh-colored, rather young man® entered 
the study, a person of rather cold and ungrace¬ 
ful manners, yet genial-looking enough; at least, 
not repulsive. He was dressed in rather a 
rough, serviceable travelling dress, and except 
for a nicely brushed hat and unmistakably white 
linen, was rather careless in attire. You would 
have thought twice, perhaps, before deciding 
him to be a gentleman, but finally would have 
decided that he was; one great token being, that 
the singular aspect of the room into which he 
was ushered, the spider festoonery, and other 
strange accompaniments, the grim aspect of the 
Doctor himself, and the beauty and intelligence 
of his two companions, and even that horrific 
weaver, the great dangling spider, — neither one 
nor all of these called any expression of surprise 
to the stranger's face. 

103 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


‘‘Your name is Hammond?** begins the 
Doctor, with his usual sparseness of ornamental 
courtesy.^ 

The stranger bowed. 

“ An Englishman, I perceive,** continued the 
Doctor, but nowise intimating that the fact of 
being a countryman was any recommendation 
in his eyes. 

“Yes, an Englishman,** replied Hammond; 
“ a briefless barrister,® in fact, of Lincoln*s Inn, 
who, having little or nothing to detain him at 
home, has come to spend a few idle months in 
seeing the new republic which has been made 
out of English substance.** 

“ And what,** continued Doctor Grim, not a 
whit relaxing the repulsiveness of his manner, 
and scowling askance at the stranger, — “ what 
may have drawn on me the good fortune of 
being compelled to make my time idle, because 
yours is so ? ** 

The stranger*s cheek flushed a little; but he 
smiled to himself, as if saying that here was a 
grim, rude kind of humorist, who had lost the 
sense of his own peculiarity, and had no idea 
that he was rude at all. “ I came to America, 
as I told you,** said he, “ chiefly because I was 
idle, and wanted to turn my enforced idleness 
to what profit I could, in the way of seeing men, 
manners, governments, and problems, which I 
hope to have no time to study by and by. But 
104 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

I also had an errand intrusted to me, and of a 
singular nature ; and making inquiry in this lit¬ 
tle town (where my mission must be performed, 
if at all), I have been directed to you, by your 
townspeople, as to a person not unlikely to be 
able to assist me in it/' 

“ My townspeople, since you choose to call 
them so,” answered the grim Doctor, ought 
to know, by this time, that I am not the sort 
of man likely to assist any person, in any way.” 

“Yet this is so singular an affair,” said the 
stranger, still with mild courtesy, “ that at least 
it may excite your curiosity. I have come here 
to find a grave.” 

“To find a grave! ” said Doctor Grim, giv¬ 
ing way to a grim sense of humor, and relaxing 
just enough to let out a joke, the tameness of 
which was a little redeemed, to his taste, by its 
grimness. “ I might help you there, to be sure, 
since it is all in the way of business. Like others 
of my profession, I have helped many people to 
find their graves, no doubt, and shall be happy 
to do the same for you. You have hit upon 
the one thing in which my services are ready.” 

“ I thank you, my dear sir,” said the young 
stranger, having tact enough to laugh at Doctor 
Grim's joke, and thereby mollifying him a little ; 
“ but as far as I am personally concerned, I pre¬ 
fer to wait a while before making the discovery 
of that little spot in Mother Earth which I am 
105 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


destined to occupy. It is a grave which has 
been occupied as such for at least a century and 
a half which I am in quest of; and it is as an 
antiquarian, a genealogist, a person who has had 
dealings with the dead of long ago, not as a pro¬ 
fessional man engaged in adding to their number, 
that I ask your aid.'* 

“ Ah, ahah ! said the Doctor, laying down 
his pipe, and looking earnestly at the stranger; 
not kindly nor genially, but rather with a lurid 
glance of suspicion out of those red eyes of his, 
but no longer with a desire to escape an intruder; 
rather as one who meant to clutch him. “ Ex¬ 
plain your meaning, sir, at once.'* 

“ Then here it is,'' said Mr. Hammond. 
“ There is an old English family, one of the 
members of which, very long ago, emigrated to 
this part of America, then a wilderness, and long 
afterwards a British colony. He was on ill terms 
with his family. There is reason to believe that 
documents, deeds, titular proofs, or some other 
thing valuable to the family, were buried in the 
grave of this emigrant; and there have been 
various attempts, within a century, to find this 
grave, and if possible some living descendant 
of the man, or both, under the idea that either 
of these cases might influence the disputed de¬ 
scent of the property, and enable the family to 
prove its claims to an ancient title. Now, rather 
as a matter of curiosity, than with any real hope 
io6 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


of success, — and being slightly connected with 
the family, — I have taken what seems to my¬ 
self a wild-goose chase; making it merely inci¬ 
dental, you will understand, not by any means 
the main purpose of my voyage to America.’* 

‘‘ What is the name of this family ? ” asked 
the Doctor abruptly. 

“The man whose grave I seek,” said the 
stranger, “ lived and died, in this country, under 
the assumed name of Colcord.” 

“ How do you expect to succeed in this 
ridiculous quest ? ” asked the Doctor, “ and what 
marks, signs, directions, have you to guide your 
search ? And moreover, how have you come 
to any knowledge whatever about the matter, 
even that the emigrant ever assumed this name 
of Colcord, and that he was buried anywhere, 
and that his place of burial, after more than a 
century, is of the slightest importance ? ” 

“ All this was ascertained by a messenger on 
a similar errand with my own, only undertaken 
nearly a century ago, and more in earnest than 
I can pretend to be,” replied the Englishman. 
“ At that period, however, there was probably 
a desire to find nothing that might take the 
hereditary possessions of the family out of the 
branch which still held them; and there is strong 
reason to suspect that the information acquired 
was purposely kept secret by the person in Eng¬ 
land into whose hands it came. The thing is 
107 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


differently situated now; the possessor of the 
estate is recently dead ; and the discovery of an 
American heir would not be unacceptable to 
many. At all events, any knowledge gained 
here would throw light on a somewhat doubtful 
matter.” 

“ Where, as nearly as you can judge,” said the 
Doctor, after a turn or two through the study, 
“ was this man buried ? ” 

“ He spent the last years of his life, certainly, 
in this town,” said Hammond, and may be 
found, if at all, among the dead of that period.” 

“And they—their miserable dust, at least, 
which is all that still exists of them — were buried 
In the graveyard under these windows,” said the 
Doctor. “ What marks, I say, — for you might 
as well seek a vanished wave of the sea, as a grave 
that surged upward so long ago.” 

“ On the gravestone,” said Hammond, “ a 
slate one, there was rudely sculptured the im¬ 
press of a foot. What it signifies I cannot con¬ 
jecture, except it had some reference to a certain 
legend of a bloody footstep, which is currently 
told, and some token of which yet remains on 
one of the thresholds of the ancient mansion 
house.” 

Ned and Elsie had withdrawn themselves from 
the immediate vicinity of the fireside, and were 
playing at fox and geese in a corner near the 
window. But little Elsie, having very quick 
io8 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


ears, and a faculty of attending to more affairs 
than one, now called out, “ Doctor Grim, Ned 
and I know where that gravestone is.” 

‘‘ Hush, Elsie,” whispered Ned earnestly. 

‘‘ Come forward here, both of you,” said 
Doctor Grimshawe. 

109 


CHAPTER IX 


HE two children approached, and stood 



before the Doctor and his guest, the 


latter of whom had not hitherto taken 


particular notice of them. He now looked from 
one to the other, with the pleasant, genial ex¬ 
pression of a person gifted with a natural liking 
for children, and the freemasonry requisite to 
bring him acquainted with them ; and it lighted 
up his face with a pleasant surprise to see two 
such beautiful specimens of boyhood and girl¬ 
hood in this dismal, spider-haunted house, and 
under the guardianship of such a savage lout 
as the grim Doctor. He seemed particularly 
struck by the intelligence and sensibility of 
Ned's face, and met his eyes with a glance that 
Ned long afterwards remembered ; but yet he 
seemed -quite as much interested by Elsie, and 
gazed at her face with a perplexed, inquiring 
glance. 

‘‘These are fine children," said he. “ May 
I ask if they are your own ? — Pardon me if I 
ask amiss," added he, seeing a frown on the 
Doctor's brow. 

“ Ask nothing about the brats," replied he 


no 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


grimly. ‘‘Thank Heaven, they are not my 
children ; so your question is answered.” 

“ I again ask pardon,” said Mr. Hammond. 
“ I am fond of children; and the boy has a 
singularly fine countenance; not in the least 
English. The true American face, no doubt. 
As to this sweet little girl, she impresses me 
with a vague resemblance to some person I have 
seen. Hers I should deem an English face.” 

“ These children are not our topic,” said the 
grim Doctor, with gruff impatience. “ If they 
are to be so, our conversation is ended. Ned, 
what do you know of this gravestone with the 
bloody foot on it ? ” 

“ It is not a bloody foot. Doctor Grim,” said 
Ned, “and I am not sure that it is a foot at 
all; only Elsie and I chose to fancy so, because 
of a story that we used to play at. But we 
were children then. The gravestone lies on 
the ground, within a little bit of a walk of our 
door; but this snow has covered it all over; 
else we might go out and see it.” 

“We will go out at any rate,” said the Doc¬ 
tor, “ and if the Englishman chooses to come 
to America, he must take our snows as he finds 
them. Take your shovel, Ned, and if neces¬ 
sary we will uncover the gravestone.” 

They accordingly muffled themselves in their 
warmest, and plunged forth through a back 

HI 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


door into Ned and Elsie’s playground, as the 
grim Doctor was wont to call it. The snow, 
except in one spot close at hand, lay deep, like 
cold oblivion, over the surging graves, and piled 
itself in drifted heaps against every stone that 
raised itself above the level; it filled enviously 
the letters of the inscriptions, enveloping all the 
dead in one great winding-sheet, whiter and 
colder than those which they had individually 
worn. The dreary space was pathless; not a 
footstep had tracked through the heavy snow ; 
for it must be warm affection indeed that could 
so melt this wintry impression as to penetrate 
through the snow and frozen earth, and estab¬ 
lish any warm thrills with the dead beneath : 
daisies, grass, genial earth, these allow of the 
magnetism of such sentiments ; but winter sends 
them shivering back to the baffled heart. 

‘‘Well, Ned,” said the Doctor impatiently. 

Ned looked about him somewhat bewildered, 
and then pointed to a spot within not more 
than ten paces of the threshold which they had 
just crossed; and there appeared, not a grave¬ 
stone, but a new grave (if any grave could be 
called new in that often-dug soil, made up of 
old mortality), an open hole, with the freshly 
dug earth piled up beside it. A little snow (for 
there had been a gust or two since morning) 
appeared, as they peeped over the edge, to have 
fallen into it; but not enough to prevent a cof- 

II2 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


lin from finding fit room and accommodation 
in it. But it was evident that the grave had 
been dug that very day. 

“ The headstone, with the foot on it, was 
just here,” said Ned, in much perplexity, ‘‘and, 
as far as I can judge, the old sunken grave ex¬ 
actly marked out the space of this new one.” ^ 

“It is a shame,” said Elsie, much shocked 
at the indecorum, “ that the new person should 
be thrust in here ; for the old one was a friend 
of ours.” 

“ But what has become of the headstone! ” 
exclaimed the young English stranger. 

During their perplexity, a person had ap¬ 
proached the group, wading through the snow 
from the gateway giving entrance from the 
street; a gaunt figure, with stooping shoulders, 
over one of which was a spade and some other 
tool fit for delving in the earth ; and in his face 
there was the sort of keen, humorous twinkle 
that grave-diggers somehow seem to get, as if 
the dolorous character of their business necessi¬ 
tated something unlike itself by an inevitable 
reaction. 

“ Well, Doctor,” said he, with a shrewd wink 
in his face, “ are you looking for one of your 
patients ? The man who is to be put to bed 
here was never caught in your spider’s web.” 

“ No,” said Doctor Grimshawe ; “when my 
patients have done with me, I leave them to 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


you and the old Nick, and never trouble my¬ 
self about them more. What I want to know 
is, why you have taken upon you to steal a 
man’s grave, after he has had immemorial pos¬ 
session of it. By what right have you dug up 
this bed, undoing the work of a predecessor of 
yours, who has long since slept in one of his 
own furrows ? ” 

“ Why, Doctor,” said the grave-digger, look¬ 
ing quietly into the cavernous pit which he had 
hollowed, “ it is against common sense that a 
dead man should think to keep a grave to him¬ 
self longer than till you can take up his sub¬ 
stance in a shovel. It would be a strange thing 
enough, if, when living families are turned out 
of their homes twice or thrice in a generation 
(as they are likely to be in our new govern¬ 
ment), a dead man should think he must sleep 
in one spot till the day of judgment. No; 
turn about, I say, to these old fellows. As 
long as they can decently be called dead men, 
I let them lie ; when they are nothing but dust, 
I just take leave to stir them on occasion. This 
is the way we do things under the republic, 
whatever your customs be in the old country.” 

“ Matters are very much the same in any old 
English churchyard,” said the English stranger. 
“ But, my good friend, I have come three 
thousand miles, partly to find this grave, and 
am a little disappointed to find my labor lost.” 

114 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


“ Ah ! and you are the man my father was 
looking for/’ said the grave-digger, nodding his 
head at Mr. Hammond. “ My father, who 
was a grave-digger afore me, died four and 
thirty years ago, when we were under the King; 
and says he, ‘ Ebenezer, do not you turn up a 
sod in this spot, till you have turned up every 
other in the ground.’ And I have always 
obeyed him.” 

“ And what was the reason of such a singu¬ 
lar prohibition ? ” asked Hammond. 

“ My father knew,” said the grave-digger, 
and he told me the reason too ; but since we 
are under the republic, we have given up re¬ 
membering those old-world legends, as we used 
to. The newspapers keep us from talking in 
the chimney corner; and so things go out of 
our minds. An old man, with his stories of 
what he has seen, and what his great-grandfather 
saw before him, is of little account since news¬ 
papers came up. Stop — I remember — no, I 
forget, — it was something about the grave 
holding a witness, who had been sought before 
and might be again.” 

And that is all you know about it ? ” said 
Hammond. 

All, — every mite,” said the old grave-dig¬ 
ger. “ But my father knew, and would have 
been glad to tell you the whole story. There 
was a great deal of wisdom and knowledge, 

115 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


about graves especially, buried out yonder where 
my old father was put away, before the Stamp 
Act was thought of. But it is no great matter, 
I suppose. People don't care about old graves 
in these times. They just live, and put the 
dead out of sight and out of mind." 

‘‘ Well; but what have you done with the 
headstone .? " said the Doctor. You can't 
have eaten it up." 

“ No, no. Doctor," said the grave-digger, 
laughing; “ it would crack better teeth than 
mine, old and crumbly as it is. And yet I 
meant to do something with it that is akin to 
eating ; for my oven needs a new floor, and I 
thought to take this stone, which would stand 
the fire well. But here," continued he, scrap¬ 
ing away the snow with his shovel, a task in 
which little Ned gave his assistance, — ‘‘here 
is the headstone, just as I have always seen it, 
and as my father saw it before me." 

The ancient memorial, being cleared of snow, 
proved to be a slab of freestone, with some rude 
traces of carving in bas-relief around the border, 
now much effaced, and an impression, which 
seemed to be as much like a human foot as any¬ 
thing else, sunk into the slab; but this device 
was wrought in a much more clumsy way than 
the ornamented border, and evidently by an un¬ 
skilful hand. Beneath was an inscription, over 
which the hard, flat lichens had grown, and done 

ii6 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

their best to obliterate it, although the follow¬ 
ing words might be written^ or guessed : — 

‘‘ Here lyeth the mortal part of Thomas Col- 
cord, an upright man, of tender and devout 
soul, who departed this troublous life Septem¬ 
ber y* nineteenth, 1667, aged 57 years and nine 
months. Happier in his death than in his 
lifetime. Let his bones be.” 

The name, Colcord, was somewhat defaced ; 
it was impossible, in the general disintegration 
of the stone, to tell whether wantonly, or with 
a purpose of altering and correcting some error 
in the spelling, or, as occurred to Hammond, to 
change the name entirely. 

“ This is very unsatisfactory,” said Ham¬ 
mond, ‘‘ but very curious, too. But this cer¬ 
tainly is the impress of what was meant for a 
human foot, and coincides strangely with the 
legend of the Bloody Footstep, — the mark of 
the foot that trod in the blessed King Charles's 
blood.” 

‘‘ For that matter,” said the grave-digger, 
“ it comes into my mind that my father used to 
call it the stamp of Satan's foot, because he 
claimed the dead man for his own. It is plain 
to see that there was a deep cleft between two 
of the toes.” 

There are two ways of telling that legend,” 
remarked the Doctor. “ But did you find no¬ 
thing in the grave, Hewen? ” 

117 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

“ O, yes, — a bone or two, — as much as 
could be expected after above a hundred years,*’ 
said the grave-digger. “ I tossed them aside ; 
and if you are curious about them, you will find 
them when the snow melts. That was all; and 
it would have been unreasonable in old Colcord 
— especially in these republican times — to have 
wanted to keep his grave any longer, when there 
was so little of him left.” 

I must drop the matter here, then,” said 
Hammond, with a sigh. ‘‘ Here, my friend, is 
a trifle for your trouble.” 

“No trouble,” said the grave-digger, “ and in 
these republican times we can’t take anything 
for nothing, because it won’t do for a poor man 
to take off his hat and say thank you.” 

Nevertheless, he did take the silver, and 
winked a sort of acknowledgment. 

The Doctor, with unwonted hospitality, in¬ 
vited the English stranger to dine in his house ; 
and though there was no pretence of cordiality 
in the invitation, Mr. Hammond accepted it, 
being probably influenced by curiosity to make 
out some definite idea of the strange household 
in which he found himself. Doctor Grimshawe 
having taken it upon him to be host, — for, up 
to this time, the stranger stood upon his own 
responsibility, and, having voluntarily presented 
himself to the Doctor, had only himself to thank 
for any scant courtesy he might meet, — but 

ii8 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


now the grim Doctor became genial after his 
own fashion. At dinner he produced a bottle 
of port, which made the young Englishman al¬ 
most fancy himself on the other side of the 
water; and he entered into a conversation, 
which I fancy was the chief object which the 
grim Doctor had in view in showing himself in 
so amiable a light,^ for in the course of it the 
stranger was insensibly led to disclose many 
things, as it were of his own accord, relating to 
the part of England whence he came, and espe¬ 
cially to the estate and family which have been 
before mentioned, — the present state of that 
family, together with other things that he seemed 
to himself to pour out naturally, — for, at last, 
he drew himself up, and attempted an excuse. 

“ Your good wine,” said he, ‘‘ or the unex¬ 
pected accident of meeting a countryman, has 
made me unusually talkative, and on subjects, 
I fear, which have not a particular interest for 
you.” 

“ I have not quite succeeded in shaking off 
my country, as you see,” said Doctor Grim- 
shawe, though I neither expect nor wish ever 
to see it again.” 

There was something rather ungracious in the 
grim Doctor's response, and as they now ad¬ 
journed to his study, and the Doctor betook him¬ 
self to his pipe and tumbler, the young English¬ 
man sought to increase his acquaintance jvith 
119 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE'S SECRET 


the two children, both of whom showed them¬ 
selves graciously inclined towards him ; more 
warmly so than they had been to the school¬ 
master, as he was the only other guest whom 
they had ever met. 

“ Would you like to see England, my little 
fellow? ” he inquired of Ned. 

“ O, very much! more than anything else 
in the world,'^ replied the boy ; his eyes gleam¬ 
ing and his cheeks flushing with the earnestness 
of his response; for, indeed, the question stirred 
up all the dreams and reveries which the child 
had cherished, far back into the dim regions of 
his memory. After what the Doctor had told 
him of his origin, he had never felt any home 
feeling here ; it seemed to him that he was wan¬ 
dering Ned, whom the wind had blown from 
afar. Somehow or other, from many circum¬ 
stances which he put together and seethed in his 
own childish imagination, it seemed to him that 
he was to go back to that far old country, and 
there wander among the green, ivy-grown, ven¬ 
erable scenes ; the older he grew, the more his 
mind took depth, the stronger was this fancy in 
him; though even to Elsie he had scarcely 
breathed it. 

“ So strong a desire,” said the stranger, smil¬ 
ing at his earnestness, will be sure to work out 
its own accomplishment. I shall meet you in 
England, my young friend, one day or another. 

120 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


And you, my little girl, are you as anxious to 
see England as your brother ? ” 

“Ned is not my brother,'* said little Elsie. 
The Doctor here interposed some remark on 
a different subject; for it was observable that he 
never liked to have the conversation turn on 
these children, their parentage, or relations to 
each other or himself. The children were sent 
to bed ; and the young Englishman, finding the 
conversation lag, and his host becoming gruffer 
and less communicative than he thought quite 
courteous, retired. But before he went, how¬ 
ever, he could not refrain from making a remark 
on the gigantic spider, which was swinging like 
a pendulum above the Doctor's head. 

“ What a singular pet! " said he ; for the ner¬ 
vous part of him had latterly been getting up¬ 
permost, so that it disturbed him ; in fact, the 
spider above and the grim man below equally 
disturbed him. “ Are you a naturalist ? Have 
you noted his habits ? " 

“ Yes," said the Doctor, “ I have learned from 
his web how to weave a plot, and how to catch 
my victim and devour him !" 

“ Thank God," said the Englishman, as he 
issued forth into the cold gray night, “ I have 
escaped the grim fellow's web, at all events. 
How strange a group, — those two sweet chil¬ 
dren, that grim old man ! " 

As regards this matter of the ancient grave, 
121 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


it remains to be recorded, that, when the snow 
melted, little Ned and Elsie went to look at the 
spot, where, by this time, there was a little hil¬ 
lock with the brown sods laid duly upon it, 
which the coming spring would make green. By 
the side of it they saw, with more curiosity than 
repugnance, a few fragments of crumbly bones, 
which they plausibly conjectured to have apper¬ 
tained to some part of the framework of the an¬ 
cient Colcord, wherewith he had walked through 
the troublous life of which his gravestone spoke. 
And little Elsie, whose eyes were very sharp, 
and her observant qualities of the quickest, found 
something which Ned at first pronounced to be 
only a bit of old iron, incrusted with earth; but 
Elsie persisted to knock off some of the earth 
that seemed to have incrusted it, and discovered 
a key. The children ran with their prize to the 
grim Doctor, who took it between his thumb 
and finger, turned it over and over, and then 
proceeded to rub it with a chemical substance 
which soon made it bright. It proved to be a 
silver key, of antique and curious workmanship. 

“ Perhaps this is what Mr. Hammond was in 
search of,” said Ned. ‘‘What a pity he is gone ! 
Perhaps we can send it after him.” 

“Nonsense,” said the gruff Doctor. 

And attaching the key to a chain, which he 
took from a drawer, and which seemed to be 
gold, he hung it round Ned’s neck. 

122 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


“When you find a lock for this key,” said 
he, “ open it, and consider yourself heir of what¬ 
ever treasure is revealed there ! ” 

Ned continued that sad, fatal habit of growing 
out of childhood, as boys will, until he was now 
about ten years old, and little Elsie as much as 
six or seven. He looked healthy, but pale; 
something there was in the character and influ¬ 
ences of his life that made him look as if he were 
growing up in a shadow, with less sunshine than 
he needed for a robust and exuberant develop¬ 
ment, though enough to make his intellectual 
growth tend towards a little luxuriance, in some 
directions. He was likely to turn out a fanci¬ 
ful, perhaps a poetic youth ; young as he was, 
there had been already discoveries, on the grim 
Doctor’s part, of certain blotted and clumsily 
scrawled scraps of paper, the chirography on 
which was arrayed in marshalled lines of un¬ 
equal length, and each commanded by a capital 
letter and marching on from six to ten lame feet. 
Doctor Grim inspected these things curiously, 
and to say the truth most scornfully, before he 
took them to light his pipe withal; but they 
told him little as regarded this boy’s internal 
state, being mere echoes, and very lugubrious 
ones, of poetic strains that were floating about 
in the atmosphere of that day, long before any 
now remembered bard had begun to sing. But 
there were the rudiments of a poetic and ima- 
123 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

ginative mind within the boy, if its subsequent 
culture should be such as the growth of that 
delicate flower requires; a brooding habit taking 
outward things into itself and imbuing them 
with its own essence until, after they had lain 
there awhile, they assumed a relation both to 
truth and to himself, and became mediums to 
affect other minds with the magnetism of his 
own. He lived far too much an inward life for 
healthfulness, at his age; the peculiarity of his 
situation, a child of mystery, with certain reaches 
and vistas that seemed to promise a bright solu¬ 
tion of his mystery, keeping his imagination 
always awake and strong. That castle in the 
air, — so much more vivid than other castles, 
because it had perhaps a real substance of an¬ 
cient, ivy-grown, hewn stone somewhere, — that 
visionary hall in England, with its surrounding 
woods and fine lawns, and the beckoning shad¬ 
ows at the ancient windows, and that fearful 
threshold, with the blood still glistening on it, 
— he dwelt and wandered so much there, that 
he had no real life in the sombre house on the 
corner of the graveyard ; except that the loneli¬ 
ness of the latter, and the grim Doctor with his 
grotesque surroundings, and then the great ugly 
spider, and that odd, inhuman mixture of crusty 
Hannah, all served to remove him out of the 
influences of common life. Little Elsie was all 
that he had to keep life real, and substantial; 

124 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

and she, a child so much younger than he, was 
influenced by the same circumstances, and still 
more by himself, so that, as far as he could im¬ 
part himself to her, he led her hand in hand 
through the same dream scenery amid which he 
strayed himself. They knew not another child 
in town ; the grim Doctor was their only friend. 
As for Ned, this seclusion had its customary and 
normal effect upon him ; it had made him think 
ridiculously high of his own gifts, powers, at¬ 
tainments, and at the same time doubt whether 
they would pass with those of others; it made 
him despise all flesh, as if he were of a superior 
race, and yet have an idle and weak fear of com¬ 
ing in contact with them, from a dread of his 
incompetency to cope with them ; so he at once 
depreciated and exalted, to an absurd degree, 
both himself and others. 

‘‘ Ned,'’ said the Doctor to him one day, in 
his gruffest tone, “ you are not turning out to 
be the boy I looked for and meant to make. I 
have given you sturdy English instruction, and 
solidly grounded you in matters that the poor 
superficial people and time merely skim over; 
I looked to see the rudiments of a man in you 
by this time ; and you begin to mope and pule 
as if your babyhood were coming back on you. 
You seem to think more than a boy of your 
years should; and yet it is not manly thought, 
nor ever will be so. What do you mean, boy, 
125 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


by making all my care of you come to nothing, 
in this way ? ** 

‘‘I do my best. Doctor Grim,” said Ned, 
with sullen dignity. ‘‘ What you teach me, I 
learn. What more can I do ? ” 

‘‘ I ’ll tell you what, my fine fellow,” quoth 
Doctor Grim, getting rude, as was his habit. 
“ You disappoint me, and I ’ll not bear it. I 
want you to be a man; and I ’ll have you a 
man or nothing. If I had foreboded such a 
fellow as you turn out to be, I never would 
have taken you from the place where, as I once 
told you, I found you, — the almshouse ! ” 

“ O, Doctor Grim, Doctor Grim ! ” cried lit¬ 
tle Elsie, in a tone of grief and bitter reproach. 

Ned had risen slowly, as the Doctor uttered 
those last words, turning as white as a sheet, 
and stood gazing at him, with large eyes, in 
which there was a calm upbraiding ; a strange 
dignity was in his childish aspect, which was no 
longer childish, but seemed to have grown older 
all in a moment. 

‘‘ Sir,” added the Doctor, incensed at the 
boy’s aspect, “ there is nonsense that ought to 
be whipt out of you.” 

“You have said enough, sir,” said the boy. 
“Would to God you had left me where you 
found me ! ^ It was not my fault that you 
took me from the almshouse. But it will be 
126 



DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


my fault if I ever eat another bit of your bread, 
or stay under your roof an hour longer.” 

He was moving towards the door, but little 
Elsie sprung upon him and caught him round 
the neck, although he repelled her with severe 
dignity; and Doctor Grimshawe, after a look 
at the group in which a bitter sort of mirth and 
mischief struggled with a better and kindlier 
sentiment, at last flung his pipe into the chim¬ 
ney, hastily quaffed the remnant of a tumbler, 
and shuffled after Ned, kicking off his old slip¬ 
pers in his hurry. He caught the boy just by 
the door. 

Ned, Ned, my boy, I’m sorry for what I 
said,” cried he. “ I am a guzzling old block¬ 
head, and don’t know how to treat a gentleman 
when he honors me with his company. It is 
not in my blood nor breeding to have such 
knowledge. Ned, you will make a man, and I 
lied if I said otherwise. Come, I’m sorry, I’m 
sorry.” 

The boy was easily touched, at these years, 
as a boy ought to be ; and though he had not 
yet forgiven the grim Doctor, the tears, to his 
especial shame, gushed out of his eyes in a tor¬ 
rent, and his whole frame shook with sobs. 
The Doctor caught him in his arms, and hugged 
him to his old tobacco-fragrant dressing-gown, 
hugged him like a bear, as he was ; so that 
127 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 

poor Ned hardly knew whether he was embra¬ 
cing him with his love, or squeezing him to 
death in his wrath. 

‘^Ned,’' said he, “ I’m not going to live a 
great while longer; I seem an eternal nuisance 
to you, I know; but it’s not so, I *m mortal 
and I feel myself breaking up. Let us be 
friends while I live; for believe me, Ned, I Ve 
done as well by you as I knew, and care for 
nothing, love nothing, so much as you. Little 
Elsie here, yes. I love her too. But that *s 
different. You are a boy, and will be a man ; 
and a man whom I destine to do for me what 
it has been the object of my life to achieve. 
Let us be friends. We will — we must be 
friends ; and when old Doctor Grim, worthless 
wretch that he is, sleeps in his grave, you shall 
not have the pang of having parted from him 
in unkindness. Forgive me, Ned ; and not 
only that, but love me better than ever; for 
though I am a hasty old wretch, I am not alto¬ 
gether evil as regards you.’* 

1 know not whether the Doctor would have 
said all this, if the day had not been pretty 
well advanced, and if his potations had not been 
many; but, at any rate, he spoke no more than 
he felt, and his emotions thrilled through the 
sensitive system of the boy, and quite melted 
him down. He forgave Doctor Grim, and, as 
he asked, loved him better than ever; and so 
128 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

did Elsie. Then it was so sweet, so good, to 
have had this one outgush of affection, — he, 
poor child, who had no memory of mother^s 
kisses, or of being cared for out of tenderness, 
and whose heart had been hungry, all his life, 
for some such thing; and probably Doctor 
Grim, in his way, had the same kind of enjoy¬ 
ment of this passionate crisis; so that though, 
the next day, they all three looked at one an¬ 
other a little ashamed, yet it had some remote 
analogy to that delicious embarrassment of two 
lovers, at their first meeting after they know all. 

129 


CHAPTER X 


I T is very remarkable that Ned had so much 
good in him as we find there ; in the first 
place, born, as he seemed to be, of a wild, 
vagrant stock, a seedling sown by the breezes, 
and falling among the rocks and sands; the 
growing up without a mother to cultivate his 
tenderness with kisses, and the inestimable, in¬ 
evitable love of love breaking out on all little 
occasions, without reference to merit or demerit, 
unfailing whether or no ; mother’s faith in ex¬ 
cellences, the buds which were yet invisible to 
all other eyes, but to which her warm faith was 
the genial sunshine necessary to their growth; 
mother’s generous interpretation of all that was 
doubtful in him, and which might turn out good 
or bad, according as should be believed of it; 
mother’s pride in whatever the boy accom¬ 
plished, and unfailing excuses, explanations, 
apologies, so satisfactory, for all his failures ; 
mother’s deep intuitive insight, which should 
see the permanent good beneath all the appear¬ 
ance of temporary evil, being wiser through her 
love than the wisest sage could be, — the dull¬ 
est, homeliest mother than the wisest sage. The 
Creator, apparently, has set a little of his own 
130 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

infinite wisdom and love (which are one) in a 
mother's heart, so that no child, in the common 
course of things, should grow up without some 
heavenly instruction. Instead of all this, and 
the vast deal more that mothers do for children, 
there had been only the gruff, passionate Doc¬ 
tor, without sense of religion, with only a fitful 
tenderness, with years' length between the fits, 
so fiercely critical, so wholly unradiant of hope, 
misanthropic, savagely morbid. Yes; there was 
little Elsie too ; it must have been that she was 
the boy's preserver, being childhood, sisterhood, 
womanhood, all that there had been for him of 
human life, and enough — he being naturally of 
such good stuff—to keep him good. He had 
lost much, but not all : he was not nearly what 
he might have been under better auspices; flaws 
and imperfections there were, in abundance, 
great uncultivated wastes and wildernesses in 
his moral nature, tangled wilds where there 
might have been stately, venerable religious 
groves; but there was no rank growth of evil. 
That unknown mother, that had no opportu¬ 
nity to nurse her boy, must have had gentle 
and noblest qualities to endow him with; a 
noble father, too, a long, unstained descent, one 
would have thought. Was this an almshouse 
child ? 

Doctor Grim knew, very probably, that there 
was all this on the womanly side that was want- 

131 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

ing to Ned's occasion ; and very probably, too, 
being a man not without insight, he was aware 
that tender treatment, as a mother bestows it, 
tends likewise to foster strength, and manliness 
of character, as well as softer developments ; but 
all this he could not have supplied, and now as 
little as ever. But there was something else 
which Ned ought to have, and might have ; and 
this was intercourse with his kind, free circula¬ 
tion, free air, instead of the stived-up house, 
with the breeze from the graveyard blowing 
over it, — to be drawn out of himself, and made 
to share the life of many, to be introduced, at 
one remove, to the world with which he was to 
contend. To this end, shortly after the scene 
of passion and reconciliation above described, 
the Doctor took the resolution of sending Ned 
to an academy, famous in that day, and still 
extant. Accordingly they all three — the grim 
Doctor, Ned, and Elsie — set forth, one day of 
spring, leaving the house to crusty Hannah and 
the great spider, in a carryall, being the only 
excursion involving a night's absence that either 
of the two children remembered from the house 
by the graveyard, as at nightfall they saw the 
modest pine-built edifice, with its cupola and 
bell, where Ned was to be initiated into the 
schoolboy. The Doctor, remembering perhaps 
days spent in some gray, stately, legendary great 
school of England, instinct with the boyhood 
132 


Leaving the house 





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DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


of men afterwards great, puffed forth a depreci¬ 
ating curse upon it; but nevertheless made all 
arrangements for Ned’s behoof, and next morn¬ 
ing prepared to leave him there. 

“ Ned, my son, good-by,” cried he, shaking 
the little fellow’s hand as he stood tearful and 
wistful beside the chaise shivering at the loneli¬ 
ness which he felt settling around him, — a new 
loneliness to him, — the loneliness of a crowd. 
“ Do not be cast down, my boy. Face the 
world ; grasp the thistle strongly, and it will 
sting you the less. Have faith in your own 
fist! Fear no man ! Have no secret plot! 
Never do what you think wrong ! If hereafter 
you learn to know that Doctor Grim was a bad 
man, forgive him, and be a better one yourself. 
Good-by, and if my blessing be good for any¬ 
thing, in God’s name, I invoke it upon you 
heartily.” 

Little Elsie was sobbing, and flung her arms 
about Ned’s neck, and he his about hers; so 
that they parted without a word. As they 
drove away, a singular sort of presentiment 
came over the boy, as he stood looking after 
them. 

“ It is all over, — all over,” said he to him¬ 
self : “ Doctor Grim and little Elsie are gone 
out of my life. They leave me and will never 
come back — not they to me, not I to them. 
O, how cold the world is ! Would we three — 

133 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


the Doctor, and Elsie, and I — could have lain 
down in a row, in the old graveyard, close under 
the eaves of the house, and let the grass grow 
over us. The world is cold ; and I am an alms¬ 
house child.’* 

The house by the graveyard seemed dismal 
now, no doubt, to little Elsie, who, being of a 
cheerful nature herself (common natures often 
having this delusion about a home), had grown 
up with the idea that it was the most delightful 
spot in the world; the place fullest of pleasant 
play, and of household love (because her own 
love welled over out of her heart, like a spring 
in a barrel); the place where everybody was 
kind and good, the world beyond its threshold 
appearing perhaps strange and sombre; the spot 
where it was pleasantest to be, for its own mere 
sake; the dim old, homely place, so warm and 
cosy in winter, so cool in summer. Who else 
was fortunate enough to have such a home, — 
with that nice, kind, beautiful Ned, and that 
dear, kind, gentle, old Doctor Grim, with his 
sweet ways, so wise, so upright, so good, beyond 
all other men ? O, happy girl that she was, to 
have grown up in such a home! Was there 
ever any other house with such cosy nooks in 
it ? Such probably were the feelings of good lit¬ 
tle Elsie about this place, which has seemed to 
us so dismal; for the home feeling in the child’s 
heart, her warm, cheerful, affectionate nature, 

134 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


was a magic, so far as she herself was concerned, 
and made all the house and its inmates over 
after her own fashion. But now that little Ned 
was gone, there came a change. She moped 
about the house, and, for the first time, sus¬ 
pected it was dismal. 

As for the grim Doctor, there did not appear 
to be much alteration in that hard old charac¬ 
ter ; perhaps he drank a little more, though that 
was doubtful, because it is difficult to see where 
he could find niches to stick in more frequent 
drinks. Nor did he more frequently breathe 
through the pipe. He fell into desuetude, how¬ 
ever, of his daily walk,^ and sent Elsie to play 
by herself in the graveyard (a dreary business 
enough for the poor child) instead of taking her 
to country or seaside himself. He was more 
savage and blasphemous, sometimes, than he 
had been heretofore known to be; but, on the 
other hand, he was sometimes softer, with a 
kind of weary consenting to circumstances, in¬ 
tervals of helpless resignation, when he no 
longer fought and struggled in his heart. He 
did not seem to be alive all the time; but, on 
the other hand, he was sometimes a good deal 
too much alive, and could not bear his potations 
as well as he used to do, and was overheard 
blaspheming at himself for being so weakly, 
and having a brain that could not bear a thim¬ 
bleful, and growing to be a milksop like Colcord, 

135 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

as he said. This person, of whom the Doctor 
and his young people had had such a brief ex¬ 
perience, appeared nevertheless to hang upon 
his remembrance in a singular way,— the more 
singular as there was little resemblance between 
them, or apparent possibility of sympathy. Lit¬ 
tle Elsie was startled to hear Doctor Grim some¬ 
times call out, “ Colcord ! Colcord ! as if he 
were summoning a spirit from some secret place. 
He muttered, sitting by himself, long, indistinct 
masses of talk, in which this name was discern¬ 
ible, and other names. Going on mumbling, 
by the hour together, great masses of vague 
trouble, in which, if it only could have been un¬ 
ravelled and put in order, no doubt all the se¬ 
crets of his life, — secrets of wrath, guilt, ven¬ 
geance, love, hatred, all beaten up together, 
and the best quite spoiled by the worst, might 
have been found. His mind evidently wan¬ 
dered. Sometimes, he seemed to be holding 
conversation with unseen interlocutors, and al¬ 
most invariably, so far as could be gathered, he 
was bitter, and then sat, immitigable, pouring 
out wrath and terror, denunciating, tyrannical, 
speaking as to something that lay at his feet, 
but which he would not spare.* Then suddenly, 
he would start, look round the dark old study, 
upward to the dangling spider overhead, and 
then at the quiet little girl, who, try as she 
might, could not keep her affrighted looks from 

13b 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 

his face, and always met his eyes with a loyal 
frankness and unyielded faith in him. 

“ O, you little jade, what have you been 
overhearing ? ” 

‘"Nothing, Doctor Grim, — nothing that I 
could make out.*' 

“ Make out as much as you can," he said. 
“ I am not afraid of you." 

“ Afraid of little Elsie, dear Doctor Grim ! " 

“ Neither of you, nor of the Devil," mur¬ 
mured the Doctor, — “ of nobody but little 
Ned and that milksop Colcord. If I have 
wronged anybody it is them. As for the rest, 
let the day of judgment come. Doctor Grim 
is ready to fling down his burden at the judg¬ 
ment seat and have it sorted there." 

Then he would lie back in his chair and look 
up at the great spider, who (or else it was El¬ 
sie's fancy) seemed to be making great haste in 
those days, filling out his web as if he had less 
time than was desirable for such a piece of work. 

One morning the doctor arose as usual, and 
after breakfast (at which he ate nothing, and 
even after filling his coffee-cup half with brandy, 
half with coffee, left it untouched, save sipping 
a little out of a teaspoon) he went to the study 
(with a rather unsteady gait, chiefly remarkable 
because it was so early in the day), and there 
established himself with his pipe, as usual, and 
his medical books and machines, and his man- 
137 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


uscript. But he seemed troubled, irresolute, 
weak, and at last he blew out a volley of oaths, 
with no apparent appropriateness, and then 
seemed to be communing with himself. 

“It is of no use to carry this on any fur¬ 
ther,” said he fiercely, in a decided tone, as if he 
had taken a resolution. “ Elsie, my girl, come 
and kiss me.” 

So Elsie kissed him, amid all the tobacco 
smoke which was curling out of his mouth, as 
if there were a half-extinguished furnace in his 
inside. 

“ Elsie, my little girl, I mean to die to-day,” 
said the old man. 

“To die, dear Doctor Grim? O, no! O, 
no 1 ” 

“ O, yes 1 Elsie,” said the Doctor, in a very 
positive tone. “ I have kept myself alive by 
main force these three weeks, and I find it 
hardly worth the trouble. It requires so much 
exercise of will; — and I am weary, weary. 
The pipe does not taste good, the brandy be¬ 
wilders me. Ned is gone, too;—I have no¬ 
thing else to do. I have wrought this many a 
year for an object, and now, taking all things 
into consideration, I don't know whether to exe¬ 
cute it or no. Ned is gone; there is nobody 
but my little Elsie, — a good child, but not 
quite enough to live for. I will let myself die, 
therefore, before sunset.” 

138 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


‘‘ O, no ! Doctor Grim. Let us send for 
Ned, and you will think it worth the trouble 
of living.” 

No, Elsie, I want no one near my death¬ 
bed ; when I have finished a little business, you 
must go out of the room, and I will turn my 
face to the wall, and say good-night. But first 
send crusty Hannah for Mr. Pickering.” 

He was a lawyer of the town, a man of clas¬ 
sical and antiquarian tastes, as well as legal ac¬ 
quirement, and some of whose pursuits had 
brought him and Doctor Grim occasionally to¬ 
gether. Besides calling this gentleman, crusty 
Hannah (of her own motion, but whether out 
of good-will to the poor Doctor Grim, or from 
a tendency to mischief inherent in such unnat¬ 
ural mixtures as hers) summoned, likewise, in 
all haste, a medical man, — and, as it happened, 
the one who had taken a most decidedly hostile 
part to our Doctor, — and a clergyman, who 
had often devoted our poor friend to the infer¬ 
nal regions, almost by name, in his sermons; 
a kindness, to say the truth, which the Doctor 
had fully reciprocated in many anathemas against 
the clergyman. These two worthies, arriving 
simultaneously and in great haste, were forth¬ 
with ushered to where the Doctor lay half re¬ 
clining in his study; and upon showing their 
heads, the Doctor flew into an awful rage, threat¬ 
ening, in his customary improper way when an- 

139 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


gry, to make them smell the infernal regions, 
and proceeding to put his threats into execution 
by flinging his odorous tobacco pipe in the face 
of the medical man, and rebaptizing the clergy¬ 
man with a half-emptied tumbler of brandy and 
water, and sending a terrible vociferation of 
oaths after them both, as they clattered hastily 
down the stairs. Really, that crusty Hannah 
must have been the Devil, for she stood grin¬ 
ning and chuckling at the foot of the stairs, 
courtesying grotesquely. 

“ He terrible man, our old Doctor Grim,'' 
quoth crusty Hannah. He drive us all to the 
wicked place before him." 

This, however, was the final outbreak of 
poor Doctor Grim. Indeed, he almost went 
off at once in the exhaustion that succeeded. 
The lawyer arrived shortly after, and was shut 
up with him for a considerable space; after 
which crusty Hannah was summoned, and de¬ 
sired to call two indifferent persons from the 
street, as witnesses to a will; and this document 
was duly executed, and given into the posses¬ 
sion of the lawyer. This done, and the lawyer 
having taken his leave, the grim Doctor de¬ 
sired, and indeed commanded imperatively, that 
crusty Hannah should quit the room, having 
first — we are sorry to say — placed the brandy 
bottle within reach of his hand, and leaving him 
propped up in his armchair, in which he leaned 
140 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


back, gazing up at the great spider, who was 
dangling overhead. As the door closed behind 
crusty Hannah's grinning and yet strangely in¬ 
terested face, the Doctor caught a glimpse of 
Elsie in the passage, bathed in tears, and linger¬ 
ing and looking earnestly into the chamber.^ 

Seeing the poor little girl, the Doctor cried 
out to her, half wrathfully, half tenderly, “Don't 
cry, you little wretch ! Come and kiss me once 
more." So Elsie, restraining her grief with a 
great effort, ran to him and gave him a last 
kiss. 

“ Tell Ned," said the Doctor solemnly, “to 
think no more of the old English hall, or of 
the bloody footstep, or of the silver key, or any 
of all that ^nonsense. Good-by, my dear!" 
Then he said, with his thunderous and impera¬ 
tive tone, “ Let no one come near me till to¬ 
morrow morning." 

So that parting was over; but still the poor 
little desolate child hovered by the study door 
all day long, afraid to enter, afraid to disobey, 
but unable to go. Sometimes she heard the 
Doctor muttering, as was his wont; once she 
fancied he was praying, and dropping on her 
knees she also prayed fervently, and perhaps 
acceptably ; then, all at once, the Doctor called 
out, in a loud voice, “ No, Ned, no. Drop it, 
drop it 1 " 

And then there was an utter silence, un- 
141 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

broken forevermore by the lips that had uttered 
so many objectionable things. 

And finally, after an interval which had been 
prescribed by the grim Doctor, a messenger was 
sent by the lawyer to our friend Ned, to inform 
him of this sad event, and to bring him back 
temporarily to town, for the purpose of hearing 
what were his prospects, and what disposition 
was now to be made of him^ We shall not at¬ 
tempt to describe the grief, astonishment, and 
almost incredulity of Ned, on discovering that 
a person so mixed up with and built into his 
whole life as the stalwart Doctor Grimshawe 
had vanished out of it thus unexpectedly, like 
something thin as a vapor, — like a red flame, 
that one [instant] is very bright in its lurid ray, 
and then is nothing at all, amid the darkness. 
To the poor boy’s still further grief and aston¬ 
ishment, he found, on reaching the spot that he 
called home, that little Elsie (as the lawyer gave 
him to understand, by the express orders of 
the Doctor, and for reasons of great weight) had 
been conveyed away by a person under whose 
guardianship she was placed, and that Ned could 
not be informed of the place. Even crusty 
Hannah had been provided for and disposed of, 
and was no longer to be found. Mr. Pickering 
explained to Ned the dispositions in his favor 
which had been made by his deceased friend, 
who, out of a moderate property, had left him 
142 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


the means of obtaining as complete an education 
as the country would afford, and of supporting 
himself until his own exertions would be likely 
to give him the success which his abilities were 
calculated to win. The remainder of his pro¬ 
perty (a less sum than that thus disposed of) 
was given to little Elsie, with the exception of a 
small provision to crusty Hannah, with the re¬ 
commendation from the Doctor that she should 
retire and spend the remainder of her life among 
her own people. There was likewise a certain 
sum left for the purpose of editing and print¬ 
ing (with a dedication to the Medical Society of 
the State) an account of the process of distilling 
balm from cobwebs ; the bequest being worded 
in so singular a way that it was just as impossi¬ 
ble as it had ever been to discover whether the 
grim Doctor was in earnest or no. 

What disappointed the boy, in a greater de¬ 
gree than we shall try to express, was the lack 
of anything in reference to those dreams and 
castles of the air, — any explanation of his birth; 
so that he was left with no trace of it, except 
just so far as the almshouse whence the Doctor 
had taken him. There all traces of his name 
and descent vanished, just as if he had been 
made up of the air, as an aerolite seems to be 
before it tumbles on the earth with its mysteri¬ 
ous iron. 

The poor boy, in his bewilderment, had not 

143 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


yet come to feel what his grief was ; it was not 
to be conceived, in a few days, that he was de¬ 
prived of every person, thing, or thought that 
had hitherto kept his heart warm. He tried 
to make himself feel it, yearning for this grief 
as for his sole friend. Being, for the present, 
domiciled with the lawyer, he obtained the key 
of his former home, and went through the deso¬ 
late house that he knew so well, and which now 
had such a silent, cold, familiar strangeness, with 
none in it, though the ghosts of the grim Doc¬ 
tor, of laughing little Elsie, of crusty Hannah, 
— dead and alive alike, — were all there, and 
his own ghost among them; for he himself was 
dead, that is, his former self, which he recog¬ 
nized as himself, had passed away, as they were. 
In the study everything looked as formerly, 
yet with a sort of unreality, as if it would dis¬ 
solve and vanish on being touched ; and, in¬ 
deed, it partly proved so ; for over the Doctor^s 
chair seemed still to hang the great spider, but 
on looking closer at it, and finally touching it 
with the end of the Doctor’s stick, Ned discov¬ 
ered that it was merely the skin, shell, appari¬ 
tion, of the real spider,'^ the reality of whom, it 
is to be supposed, had followed the grim Doc¬ 
tor, whithersoever he had gone. 

A thought struck Ned while he was here; he 
remembered the secret niche in the wall, where 
he had once seen the Doctor deposit some pa- 
144 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


pers. He looked, and there they were. Who 
was the heir of those papers, if not he ? If there 
were anything wrong in appropriating them, it 
was not perceptible to him in the desolation, 
anxiety, bewilderment, and despair of that mo¬ 
ment. He grasped the papers, and hurried 
from the room and down the stairs, afraid to 
look round, and half expecting to hear the gruff 
voice of Doctor Grim thundering after him to 
bring them back. 

Then Ned went out of the back door, and 
found his way to the Doctor's new grave, which, 
as it happened, was dug close beside that one 
which occupied the place of the one which the 
stranger had come to seek ; and, as if to spite 
the Doctor's, professional antipathies, it lay be¬ 
side a grave of an old physician and surgeon, 
one Doctor Summerton, who used to help dis¬ 
eases and kill patients above a hundred years 
ago. But Doctor Grim was undisturbed by 
these neighbors, and apparently not more by 
the grief of poor little Ned, who hid his face in 
the crumbly earth of the grave, and the sods 
that had not begun to grow, and wept as if his 
heart would break. 

But the heart never breaks on the first grave; 
and, after many graves, it gets so obtuse that 
nothing can break it. 

And now let the mists settle down over the 
trail of our story, hiding it utterly on its on- 

145 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 

ward course, for a long way to come, until, after 
many years, they may disperse and discover 
something which, were it worth while to follow 
it through all that obscurity, would prove to be 
the very same track which that boy was tread¬ 
ing when we last saw him, — though it may 
have lain over land and sea since then ; but the 
footsteps that trod there are treading here. 

146 


CHAPTER XI 


T here is — or there was, now many 
years ago, and a few years also it was 
still extant — a chamber, which when 
I think of, it seems to me like entering a deep 
recess of my own consciousness, a deep cave of 
my nature ; so much have I thought of it and 
its inmate, through a considerable period of my 
life. After I had seen it long in fancy, then I 
saw it in reality, with my waking eyes; and 
questioned with myself whether I was really 
awake. 

Not that it was a picturesque or stately cham¬ 
ber; not in the least. It was dim, dim as a 
melancholy mood; so dim, to come to particu¬ 
lars, that, till you were accustomed to that twi¬ 
light medium, the print of a book looked all 
blurred ; a pin was an indistinguishable object; 
the face of your familiar friend, or your dearest 
beloved one, would be unrecognizable across 
it, and the figures, so warm and radiant with 
life and heart, would seem like the faint gray 
shadows of our thoughts, brooding in age over 
youthful images of joy and love. Nevertheless, 
the chamber, though so difficult to see across, 
was small. You detected that it was within very 
H7 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


narrow boundaries, though you could not pre¬ 
cisely see them ; only you felt yourself shut 
in, compressed, impeded, in the deep centre of 
something; and you longed for a breath of 
fresh air. Some articles of furniture there 
seemed to be ; but in this dim medium, to 
which we are unaccustomed, it is not well to try 
to make out what they were, or anything else 
— now at least — about the chamber. Only 
one thing : small as the light was, it was rather 
wonderful how there came to be any ; for no 
windows were apparent, no communication with 
the outward day.^ 

Looking into this chamber, in fancy it is some 
time before we who come out of the broad sunny 
daylight of the world discover that it has an in¬ 
mate. Yes, there is some one within, but where ? 
We know it, but do not precisely see him ; only 
a presence is impressed upon us. It is in that 
corner; no, not there ; only a heap of darkness 
and an old antique coffer, that, as we look closely 
at it, seems to be made of carved wood. Ah ! 
he is in that other dim corner; and now that we 
steal close to him, we see him ; a young man, 
pale, flung upon a sort of mattress couch. He 
seems in alarm at something or other. He 
trembles ; he listens, as if for voices. It must 
be a great peril, indeed, that can haunt him thus 
and make him feel afraid in such a seclusion as 
you feel this to be ; but there he is, tremulous, 
148 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 


and so pale that really his face is almost visible 
in the gloomy twilight. How came he here ? 
Who is he? What does he tremble at? In 
this duskiness we cannot tell. Only that he is 
a young man, in a state of nervous excitement 
and alarm, looking about him, starting to his 
feet, sometimes standing and staring about him. 

Has he been living here ? Apparently not; 
for see, he has a pair of long riding boots on, 
coming up to the knees ; they are splashed with 
mud, as if he had ridden hastily through foul 
ways; the spurs are on the heel. A riding 
dress upon him. Ha! is that blood upon the 
hand which he clasps to his forehead ? 

What more do you perceive ? Nothing, the 
light is so dim; but only we wonder w^here is 
the door, and whence the light comes. There 
is a strange abundance of spiders, too, we per¬ 
ceive ; spinning their webs here, as if they would 
entrammel something in them. A mouse has 
run across the floor, apparently, but it is too 
dim to detect him, or to detect anything beyond 
the limits of a very doubtful vagueness. We 
do not even know whether what we seem to have 
seen is really so ; whether the man is young, or 
old, or what his surroundings are ; and there 
is something so disagreeable in this seclusion, 
this stifled atmosphere, that we should be loath 
to remain here long enough to make ourselves 
certain of what was a mystery. Let us forth 
149 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


into the broad, genial daylight, for there is 
magic, there is a devilish, subtile influence, in 
this chamber; which, I have reason to believe, 
makes it dangerous to remain here. There is a 
spell on the threshold. Heaven keep us safe 
from it! 

Hark ! has a door unclosed ? Is there another 
human being in the room ? We have now be¬ 
come so accustomed to the dim medium that 
we distinguish a man of mean exterior, with a 
look of habitual subservience that seems like 
that of an English serving man, or a person in 
some menial situation; decent, quiet, neat, softly 
behaved, but yet with a certain hard and ques¬ 
tionable presence, which we would not well like 
to have near us in the room. 

‘‘Am I safe?'* asks the inmate of the prison 
chamber. 

“ Sir, there has been a search." 

“ Leave the pistols," said the voice. 

Again,^ after this time, a long time extending 
to years, let us look back into that dim chamber, 
wherever in the world it was, into which we had 
a glimpse, and where we saw apparently a fugi¬ 
tive. How looks it now? Still dim, — per¬ 
haps as dim as ever, — but our eyes, or our 
imagination, have gained an acquaintance, a cus¬ 
tomariness, with the medium ; so that we can 
discern things now a little more distinctly than 
of old. Possibly, there may have been some- 
150 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


thing cleared away that obstructed the light; at 
any rate, we see now the whereabouts — better 
than we did. It is an oblong room, lofty but 
narrow, and some ten paces in length; its floor 
is heavily carpeted, so that the tread makes no 
sound; it is hung with old tapestry, or carpet, 
wrought with the hand long ago, and still retain¬ 
ing much of the ancient colors, where there was 
no sunshine to fade them; worked on them is 
some tapestried story, done by Catholic hands, 
of saints or devils, looking each equally grave 
and solemn. The light, whence comes it ? 
There is no window; but it seems to come 
through a stone, or something like it, — a dull 
gray medium, that makes noonday look like 
evening twilight. Though sometimes there is 
an effect as if something were striving to melt 
itself through this dull medium, and — never 
making a shadow — yet to produce the effect of 
a cloud gathering thickly over the sun. There 
is a chimney ; yes, a little grate in which burns 
a coal fire, a dim smouldering fire; it might be 
an illumination, if that were desirable. 

What is the furniture ? An antique chair, 
— one chair, no more. A table, many-footed, 
of dark wood ; it holds writing materials, a book, 
too, on its face, with the dust gathered on its 
back. There is, moreover, a sort of antique box, 
or coffer, of some dark wood, that seems to have 
been wrought or carved with skill, wondrous 

151 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

skill, of some period when the art of carving 
wainscot with arms and devices was much prac¬ 
tised; so that on this coffer, — some six feet 
long it is, and two or three broad, — most richly- 
wrought, you see faces in relief of knight and 
dame, lords, heraldic animals ; some story, very 
likely, told, almost revelling in Gothic sculpture 
of wood, like what we have seen on the marble 
sarcophagus of the old Greeks. It has, too, a 
lock, elaborately ornamented and inlaid with 
silver. 

What else ? Only the spider's webs spinning 
strangely over everything; over that light which 
comes into the room through the stone; over 
everything. And now we see, in a corner, a 
strange great spider curiously variegated. The 
ugly, terrible, seemingly poisonous thing makes 
us shudder.® 

What else ? There are pistols ; they lie on 
the coffer ! There is a curiously shaped Italian 
dagger, of the kind which in a groove has poi¬ 
son that makes its wound mortal. On the old 
mantelpiece, over the fireplace, there is a vial 
in which are kept certain poisons. It would 
seem as if some one had meditated suicide ; or 
else that the foul fiend had put all sorts of im¬ 
plements of self-destruction in his way ; so that, 
in some frenzied moment, he might kill him¬ 
self. 

But the inmate ! There he is; but the fren- 
152 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

zied alarm in which we last saw him seems to 
have changed its character. No throb, now; 
no passion ; no frenzy of fear or despair. He 
sits dull and motionless. See ; his cheek is 
very pale ; his hair long and dishevelled. His 
beard has grown, and curls round his face. He 
has on a sleeping gown, a long robe as of one 
who abides within doors, and has nothing to do 
with outward elements ; a pair of slippers. A 
dull, dreamy reverie seems to have possessed 
him. Hark! there is again a stealthy step on 
the floor, and the serving man is here again. 
There is a peering, anxious curiosity in his face, 
as he struts towards him, a sort of enjoyment, 
one would say, in the way in which he looks at 
the strange case. 

“ I am here, you know,” he says, at length, 
after feasting his eyes for some time on the 
spectacle. 

“ I hear you ! ” says the young man, in a 
dull, indifferent tone. 

“ Will not your honor walk out to-day ? ” 
says the man. “ It is long now since your 
honor has taken the air.” 

“Very long,” says the master, “but I will 
not go out to-day. What weather is it ? ” 

“Sunny, bright, a summer day,” says the 
man. “ But you would never know it in these 
damp walls. The last winter’s chill is here yet. 
Had not your honor better go forth ? ” 

153 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


It might seem that there was a sort of sneer, 
deeply hidden under respect and obeisance, in 
the man’s words and craftily respectful tone ; 
deeply hidden, but conveying a more subtile 
power on that account. At all events, the mas¬ 
ter seemed aroused from his state of dull indif¬ 
ference, and writhed as with poignant anguish 
— an infused poison in his veins — as the man 
spoke. 

“ Have you procured me that new drug I 
spoke of?” asked the master. 

‘‘ Here it is,” said the man, putting a small 
package on the table. 

“ Is it effectual ? ” 

So said the apothecary,” answered the man; 
“ and I tried it on a dog. He sat quietly a 
quarter of an hour; then had a spasm or two, 
and was dead. But, your honor, the dead car¬ 
cass swelled horribly.” 

“Hush, villain! Have there — have there 
been inquiries for me, — mention of me ? ” 

“ O, none, sir,— none, sir. Affairs go on 
bravely, — the new live. The world fills up. 
The gap is not vacant. There is no mention 
of you. Marry, at the alehouse I heard some 
idle topers talking of a murder that took place 
some few years since, and saying that Heaven’s 
vengeance would come for it yet.” 

“ Silence, villain, there is no such thing,” said 
the young man; and, with a laugh that seemed 

154 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


like scorn, he relapsed into his state of sullen in¬ 
difference ; during which the servant stole away, 
after looking at him some time, as if to take all 
possible note of his aspect. The man did not 
seem so much to enjoy it himself, as he did to 
do these things in a kind of formal and matter- 
of-course way, as if he were performing a set 
duty ; as if he were a subordinate fiend, and 
were doing the duty of a superior one, without 
any individual malice of his own, though a gen¬ 
eral satisfaction in doing what would accrue to 
the agglomeration of deadly mischief. He stole 
away, and the master was left to himself. 

By and by, by what impulse or cause it is 
impossible to say, he started upon his feet in a 
sudden frenzy of rage and despair. It seemed 
as if a consciousness of some strange, wild, mis¬ 
erable fate that had befallen him had come upon 
him all at once ; how that he was a prisoner to 
a devilish influence, to some wizard might, that 
bound him hand and foot with spider's web. 
So he stamped ; so he half shrieked, yet stopped 
himself in the midst, so that his cry was stifled 
and smothered. Then he snatched up the poi¬ 
soned dagger and looked at it; the noose, and 
put it about his neck, — evil instrument of 
death, — but laid it down again. And then was 
a voice at the door: “ Quietly, quietly you know, 
or they will hear you." And at that voice he 
sank into sullen indifference again. 

155 


CHAPTER XII 


TRAVELLER with a knapsack on his 



shoulders comes out of the duskiness 


* of vague, unchronicled times, throwing 
his shadow before him in the morning sunshine 
along a well-trodden, though solitary path. 

It was early summer, or perhaps latter spring, 
and the most genial weather that either spring 
or summer ever brought, possessing a charac¬ 
ter, indeed, as if both seasons had done their 
utmost^ to create an atmosphere and tempera¬ 
ture most suitable for the enjoyment and exer¬ 
cise of life. To one accustomed to a climate 
where there is seldom a medium between heat 
too fierce and cold too deadly, it was a new de¬ 
velopment in the nature of weather. So genial 
it was, so full of all comfortable influences, and 
yet, somehow or other, void of the torrid char¬ 
acteristic that inevitably burns in our full sun¬ 
bursts. The traveller thought, in fact, that the 
sun was at less than his brightest glow; for 
though it was bright, — though the day seemed 
cloudless, — though it appeared to be the clear, 
transparent morning that precedes an unshad¬ 
owed noon, — still there was a mild and sof¬ 
tened character, not so perceptible when he di- 


156 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


rectly sought to see it, but as if some veil were 
interposed between the earth and sun, absorbing 
all the passionate qualities out of the latter, and 
leaving only the kindly ones. Warmth was in 
abundance, and yet, all through it, and strangely 
akin to it, there was a half-suspected coolness 
that gave the atmosphere its most thrilling and 
delicious charm. It was good for human life, 
as the traveller felt throughout all his being; 
good, likewise, for vegetable life, as was seen in 
the depth and richness of verdure over the gen¬ 
tly undulating landscape, and the luxuriance of 
foliage, wherever there was tree or shrub to put 
forth leaves. 

The path along which the traveller was pass¬ 
ing deserved at least a word or two of descrip¬ 
tion : it was a well-trodden footpath, running 
just here along the edge of a field of grass, and 
bordered on one side by a hedge which con¬ 
tained materials within itself for varied and 
minute researches in natural history; so richly 
luxuriant was it with its diverse vegetable life, 
such a green intricacy did it form, so impenetra¬ 
ble and so beautiful, and such a Paradise it was 
for the birds that built their nests there in a 
labyrinth of little boughs and twigs, unseen and 
inaccessible, while close beside the human race 
to which they attach themselves, that they must 
have felt themselves as safe as when they sung 
to Eve. Homely flowers likewise grew in it, 

157 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


and many creeping and twining plants, that were 
an original part of the hedge, had come of their 
own accord and dwelt here, beautifying and en¬ 
riching the verdant fence by way of repayment 
for the shelter and support which it afforded 
them. At intervals, trees of vast trunk and 
mighty spread of foliage, whether elms or oaks, 
grew in the line of the hedge, and the bark of 
those gigantic, age-long patriarchs was not gray 
and naked, like the trees which the traveller had 
been accustomed to see, but verdant with moss, 
or in many cases richly enwreathed with a net¬ 
work of creeping plants, and oftenest the ivy of 
old growth, clambering upward, and making its 
own twisted stem almost of one substance with 
the supporting tree. On one venerable oak 
there was a plant of mystic leaf, which the trav¬ 
eller knew by instinct, and plucked a bough of 
it with a certain reverence for the sake of the 
Druids and Christmas kisses and of the pasty 
in which it was rooted from of old. 

The path in which he walked, rustic as it was 
and made merely by the feet that pressed it 
down, was one of the ancientest of ways ; older 
than the oak that bore the mistletoe, older than 
the villages between which it passed, older per¬ 
haps than the common road which the traveller 
had crossed that morning; old as the times 
when people first debarred themselves from wan¬ 
dering freely and widely wherever a vagrant im- 
158 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

pulse led them. The footpath, therefore, still 
retains some of the characteristics of a woodland 
walk, taken at random, by a lover of nature not 
pressed for time nor restrained by artificial bar¬ 
riers ; it sweeps and lingers along, and finds 
pretty little dells and nooks of delightful scen¬ 
ery, and picturesque glimpses of halls or cot¬ 
tages, in the same neighborhood where a high¬ 
road would disclose only a tiresome blank. 
They run into one another for miles and miles 
together, and traverse rigidly guarded parks and 
domains, not as a matter of favor, but as a right; 
so that the poorest man thus retains a kind of 
property and privilege in the oldest inheritance 
of the richest. The highroad sees only the 
outside ; the footpath leads down into the heart 
of the country. 

A pleasant feature of the footpath was the 
stile, between two fields; no frail and tempo¬ 
rary structure, but betokening the permanence 
of this rustic way; the ancient solidity of the 
stone steps, worn into cavities by the hobnailed 
shoes that had pressed upon them : here not 
only the climbing foot had passed for ages, but 
here had sat the maiden with her milk pail, the 
rustic on his way afield or homeward ; here had 
been lover meetings, cheerful chance chats, song 
as natural as bird note, a thousand pretty scenes 
of rustic manners. 

It was curious to see the traveller pause, to 

159 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


contemplate so simple a thing as this old stile 
of a few stone steps ; antique as an old castle; 
simple and rustic as the gap in a rail fence ; and 
while he sat on one of the steps, making him¬ 
self pleasantly sensible of his whereabout, like 
one who should handle a dream and find it tan¬ 
gible and real, he heard a sound that bewitched 
him with still another dreamy delight. A bird 
rose out of the grassy field, and, still soaring 
aloft, made a cheery melody that was like a spire 
of audible flame, — rapturous music, as if the 
whole soul and substance of the winged creature 
had been distilled into this melody, as it van¬ 
ished skyward. 

“ The lark ! the lark ! ” exclaimed the trav¬ 
eller, recognizing the note (though never heard 
before) as if his childhood had known it. 

A moment afterwards another bird was heard 
in the shadow of a neighboring wood, or some 
other inscrutable hiding place, singing softly in 
a flutelike note, as if blown through an instru¬ 
ment of wood, — “ Cuckoo! Cuckoo ! ” — only 
twice, and then a stillness. 

How familiar these rustic sounds ! ” he ex¬ 
claimed. “ Surely I was born here ! 

The person who thus enjoyed these sounds, 
as if they were at once familiar and strange, was 
a young man, tall and rather slenderly built; 
and though we have called him young, there 
were the traces of thought, struggle, and even 
i6o 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

of experience in his marked brow and somewhat 
pale face; but the spirit within him was evi¬ 
dently still that of a youth, lithe and active, gaz¬ 
ing out of his dark eyes and taking note of 
things about him, with an eager, centring inter¬ 
est, that seemed to be unusually awake at the 
present moment. 

It could be but a few years since he first called 
himself a man ; but they must have been thickly 
studded with events, turbulent with action, spent 
amidst circumstances that called for resources of 
energy not often so early developed; and thus 
his youth might have been kept in abeyance 
until now, when in this simple rural scene he 
grew almost a boy again. As for his station in 
life, his coarse gray suit and the knapsack on 
his shoulders did not indicate a very high one; 
yet it was such as a gentleman might wear of a 
morning, or on a pedestrian ramble, and was 
worn in a way that made it seem of a better 
fashion than it really was, as it enabled him to 
find a rare enjoyment, as we have seen, in by¬ 
path, hedge row, rustic stile, lark, and cuckoo, 
and even the familiar grass and clover blossom. 
It was as if he had long been shut in a sick- 
chamber or a prison ; or, at least, within the 
iron cage of busy life, that had given him but 
few glimpses of natural things through its bars ; 
or else this was another kind of nature than he 
had heretofore known. 

i6i 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

As he walked along (through a kind of dream, 
though he seemed so sensibly observant of tri¬ 
fling things around him), he failed to notice that 
the path grew somewhat less distinctly marked, 
more infringed upon by grass, more shut in by 
shrubbery ; he had deviated into a side track, 
and, in fact, a certain printed board nailed against 
a tree had escaped his notice, warning off intrud¬ 
ers with inhospitable threats of prosecution. He 
began to suspect that he must have gone astray 
when the path led over plashy ground with a 
still fainter trail of preceding footsteps, and 
plunged into shrubbery, and seemed on the 
point of deserting him altogether, after having 
beguiled him thus far. The spot was an entan¬ 
glement of boughs, and yet did not give one the 
impression of wildness; for it was the stranger’s 
idea that everything in this long-cultivated re¬ 
gion had been touched and influenced by man’s 
care, every oak, every bush, every sod, — that 
man knew them all, and that they knew him, 
and by that mutual knowledge had become far 
other than they were in the first freedom of 
growth, such as may be found in an American 
forest. Nay, the wildest denizens of this sylvan 
neighborhood were removed in the same degree 
from their primeval character; for hares sat on 
their hind legs to gaze at the approaching trav¬ 
eller, and hardly thought it worth their while to 
leap away among some ferns, as he drew near; 

162 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

two pheasants looked at him from a bough, a lit¬ 
tle inward among the shrubbery; and, to com¬ 
plete the wonder, he became aware of the antlers 
and brown muzzle of a deer protruding among 
the boughs, and though immediately there en¬ 
sued a great rush and rustling of the herd, it 
seemed evidently to come from a certain linger¬ 
ing shyness, an instinct that had lost its purpose 
and object, and only mimicked a dread of man, 
whose neighborhood and familiarity had tamed 
the wild deer almost into a domestic creature. 
Remembering his experience of true woodland 
life, the traveller fancied that it might be possi¬ 
ble to want freer air, less often used for human 
breath, than was to be found anywhere among 
these woods. 

But then the sweet, calm sense of safety that 
was here! the certainty that with the wild ele¬ 
ment that centuries ago had passed out of this 
scene had gone all the perils of wild men and 
savage beasts, dwarfs, witches, leaving nature, 
not effete, but only disarmed* of those rougher, 
deadlier characteristics, that cruel rawness, which 
make primeval Nature the deadly enemy even 
of her own children. Here was consolation, 
doubtless ; so we sit down on the stone step of 
the last stile that he had crossed, and listen to 
the footsteps of the traveller, and the distant rus¬ 
tle among the shrubbery, as he goes deeper and 
deeper into the seclusion, having by this time 
163 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


lost the deceitful track. No matter if he go 
astray; even were it after nightfall instead of 
noontime, a will-o’-the-wisp, or Puck himself, 
would not lead him into worse harm than to de¬ 
lude him into some mossy pool, the depths of 
which the truant schoolboys had known for ages. 
Nevertheless, some little time after his disap¬ 
pearance, there was the report of a shot that 
echoed sharp and loud, startling the pheasants 
from their boughs, and sending the hares and 
deer a-scampering in good earnest. 

We next find our friend, from whom we parted 
on the footpath, in a situation of which he then 
was but very imperfectly aware; for, indeed, he 
had been in a state of unconsciousness, lasting 
until it was now late towards the sunset of that 
same day. He was endeavoring to make out 
where he was, and how he came thither, or what 
had happened; or whether, indeed, anything 
had happened, unless to have fallen asleep, and 
to be still enveloped in the fragments of some 
vivid and almost tangible dream, the more con¬ 
fused because so vivid. His wits did not come 
so readily about him as usual; there may have 
been a slight delusion, which mingled itself with 
his sober perceptions, and by its leaven of ex¬ 
travagance made the whole substance of the 
scene untrue. Thus it happened that, as it 
were at the same instant, he fancied himself 
years back in life, thousands of miles away, in a 
164 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

gloomy cobwebbed room, looking out upon a 
graveyard, while yet, neither more nor less dis¬ 
tinctly, he was conscious of being in a small 
chamber, panelled with oak, and furnished in an 
antique style. He was doubtful, too, whether 
or no there was a grim feudal figure, in a shabby 
dressing gown and an old velvet cap, sitting 
in the dusk of the room, smoking a pipe that 
diffused a scent of tobacco, — quaffing a deep- 
hued liquor out of a tumbler,— looking up¬ 
wards at a spider that hung above. Was there, 
too, a child sitting in a little chair at his foot¬ 
stool? In his earnestness to see this appari¬ 
tion more distinctly, he opened his eyes wider 
and stirred, and ceased to see it at all. 

But though that other dusty, squalid, cob-, 
webbed scene quite vanished, and along with it 
the two figures, old and young, grim and child¬ 
ish, of whose portraits it had been the frame¬ 
work, still there were features in the old, oaken- 
panelled chamber that seemed to belong rather 
to his dream. The panels were ornamented, 
here and there, with antique carving, represent¬ 
ing over and over again an identical device, 
being a bare arm, holding the torn-off head of 
some savage beast, which the stranger could not 
know by species, any more than Agassiz himself 
could have assigned its type or kindred; because 
it was that kind of natural history of which her¬ 
aldry alone keeps the menagerie. But it was 
165 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


just as familiar to his recollection as that of the 
cat which he had fondled in his childhood. 

There was likewise a mantelpiece, heavily 
wrought of oak, quite black with smoke and age, 
in the centre of which, more prominent than 
elsewhere, was that same leopard’s head that 
seemed to thrust itself everywhere into sight, as 
if typifying some great mystery which human 
nature would never be at rest till it had solved ; 
and below, in a cavernous hollow, there was a 
smouldering fire of coals ; for the genial day had 
suddenly grown chill, and a shower of rain spat¬ 
tered against the small window panes, almost 
at the same time with the struggling sunshine. 
And over the mantelpiece, where the light of 
the declining day came strongest from the win¬ 
dow, there was a larger and more highly re¬ 
lieved carving of this same device, and under¬ 
neath it a legend, in Old English letters, which, 
though his eyes could not precisely trace it at 
that distance, he knew to be this : — 

tl)£ 

Otherwise the aspect of the room bewildered 
him by not being known, since these details were 
so familiar: a narrow precinct it was, with one 
window full of old-fashioned, diamond-shaped 
panes of glass; a small desk table, standing on 
clawed feet; two or three high-backed chairs, 
on the top of each of which was carved that 

i66 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


same crest of the fabulous brute’s head, which 
the carver’s fancy seemed to have clutched so 
strongly that he could not let it go; in another 
part of the room a very old engraving, rude and 
strong, representing some ruffled personage, 
which the stranger only tried to make out with 
a sort of idle curiosity, because it was strange 
he should dream so distinctly. 

Very soon it became intolerably irritating 
that these two dreams, both purposeless, should 
have mingled and entangled themselves in his 
mind. He made a nervous and petulant mo¬ 
tion, intending to rouse himself fully ; and im¬ 
mediately a sharp pang of physical pain took 
him by surprise, and made him groan aloud. 

Immediately there was an almost noiseless 
step on the floor; and a figure emerged from a 
deep niche, that looked as if it might once have 
been an oratory, in ancient times ; and the 
figure, too, might have been supposed to pos¬ 
sess the devout and sanctified character of such 
as knelt in the oratories of ancient times. It 
was an elderly man, tall, thin, and pale, and wear¬ 
ing a long, dark tunic, and in a peculiar fashion, 
which — like almost everything else about him 
— the stranger seemed to have a confused re¬ 
membrance of; this venerable person had a be¬ 
nign and pitiful aspect, and approached the bed¬ 
side with such good will and evident desire to 
do the sufferer good, that the latter felt soothed, 
> 167 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


at least, by his very presence. He lay, a mo¬ 
ment, gazing up at the old man's face, without 
being able to exert himself to say a word, but 
sensible, as it were, of a mild, soft influence 
from him, cooling the fever which seemed to 
burn in his veins. 

“ Do you suffer much pain ? ” asked the old 
man gently. 

‘‘ None at all," said the stranger ; but again 
a slight motion caused him to feel a burning 
twinge in his shoulder. “ Yes ; there was a 
throb of strange anguish. Why should I feel 
pain ? Where am I ? " 

“In safety, and with those who desire to be 
your friends," said the old man. “ You have 
met with an accident; but do not inquire about 
it now. Quiet is what you need." 

Still the traveller gazed at him ; and the old 
man's figure seemed to enter into his dream, or 
delirium, whichever it might be, as if his peace¬ 
ful presence were but a shadow, so quaint was 
his address, so unlike real life, in that dark robe, 
with a velvet skullcap on his head, beneath 
which his hair made a silvery border; ^ and look¬ 
ing more closely, the stranger saw embroidered 
on the breast of the tunic that same device, the 
arm and the leopard's head, which was visible 
in the carving of the room. Yes ; this must 
still be a dream, which, under the unknown laws 
which govern such psychical states, had brought 

i68 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


out thus vividly figures, devices, words, forgot¬ 
ten since his boyish days. Though of an im¬ 
aginative tendency, the stranger was neverthe¬ 
less strongly tenacious of the actual, and had a 
natural horror at the idea of being seriously at 
odds, in beliefs, perceptions, conclusions, with 
the real world about him ; so that a tremor ran 
through him, as if he felt the substance of the 
world shimmering before his eyes like a mere 
vaporous consistency. 

“ Are you real ? said he to the antique pre¬ 
sence ; ‘‘ or a spirit ? or a fantasy ? ** 

The old man laid his thin, cool palm on the 
stranger's burning forehead, and smiled benig- 
nantly, keeping it there an instant. 

“ If flesh and blood are real, I am so," said 
he ; “a spirit, too, I may claim to be, made 
thin by fantasy. Again, do not perplex your¬ 
self with such things. To-morrow you may 
find denser substance in me. Drink this com¬ 
posing draught, and close your eyes to those 
things that disturb you." 

‘‘ Your features, too, and your voice," said 
the stranger, in a resigned tone, as if he were 
giving up a riddle, the solution of which he 
could not find, ‘‘ have an image and echo some¬ 
where in my memory. It is all an entangle¬ 
ment. I will drink, and shut my eyes." 

He drank from a little old-fashioned silver 
cup, which his venerable guardian presented to 
169 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 

his lips ; but in so doing he was still perplexed 
and tremulously disturbed with seeing that same 
weary old device, the leopard’s head, engraved 
on the side ; and shut his eyes to escape it, for 
it irritated a certain portion of his brain with 
vague, fanciful, elusive ideas. So he sighed, 
and spoke no more. The medicine, whatever 
it might be, had the merit, rare in doctor’s stuff, 
of being pleasant to take, assuasive of thirst, 
and imbued with a hardly perceptible fragrance, 
that was so ethereal that it also seemed to enter 
into his dream and modify it. He kept his 
eyes closed, and fell into a misty state, in which 
he wondered whether this could be the panacea 
or medicament which old Doctor Grimshawe 
used to distil from cobwebs, and of which the 
fragrance seemed to breathe through all the 
waste of years since then. He wondered, too, 
who was this benign, saintlike old man, and 
where, in what former state of being, he could 
have known ‘him; to have him thus, as no 
strange thing, and yet so strange, be attending 
at his bedside, with all this ancient garniture. 
But it was best to dismiss all things, he being 
so weak ; to resign himself; all this had hap¬ 
pened before, and had passed away, prosper¬ 
ously or unprosperously; it would pass away 
in this case, likewise; and in the morning what¬ 
ever might be delusive would have disappeared. 

170 


CHAPTER XIII 


T he patient^ had a favorable night, and 
awoke with a much clearer head, though 
still considerably feverish and in a state 
of great exhaustion from loss of blood, which 
kept down the fever. The events of the pre¬ 
ceding day shimmered as it were and shifted 
illusively in his recollection ; nor could he yet 
account for the situation in which he found him¬ 
self, the antique chamber, the old man of mediae¬ 
val garb, nor even for the wound which seemed 
to have been the occasion of bringing him 
thither. One moment, so far as he remem¬ 
bered, he had been straying along a solitary 
footpath, through rich shrubbery, with the ant¬ 
lered deer peeping at him, listening to the lark 
and the cuckoo; the next, he lay helpless in 
this oak-panelled chamber, surrounded with 
objects that appealed to some fantastic shadow 
of recollection,, which could have had no real¬ 
ity.^ 

To say the truth, the traveller perhaps wil¬ 
fully kept hold of this strange illusiveness, and 
kept his thoughts from too harshly analyzing 
his situation, and solving the riddle in which he 
found himself involved. In his present weak- 
171 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

ness, his mind sympathizing with the sinking 
down of his physical powers, it was delightful 
to let all go; to relinquish all control, and let 
himself drift vaguely into whatever region of 
improbabilities there exists apart from the dull, 
common plane of life. Weak, stricken down, 
given over to influences which had taken pos¬ 
session of him during an interval of insensibil¬ 
ity, he was no longer responsible; let these de¬ 
lusions, if they were such, linger as long as they 
would, and depart of their own accord at last. 
He, meanwhile, would willingly accept the idea 
that some spell had transported him out of an 
epoch in which he had led a brief, troubled ex¬ 
istence of battle, mental strife, success, failure, 
all equally feverish and unsatisfactory, into some 
past century, where the business was to rest, 
— to drag on dreamy days, looking at things 
through half-shut eyes ; into a limbo where 
things were put away, shows of what had once 
been, now somehow fainted, and still maintain¬ 
ing a sort of half-existence, a serious mockery; 
a state likely enough to exist just a little apart 
from the actual world, if we only know how to 
find our way into it. Scenes and events that 
had once stained themselves, in deep colors, on 
the curtain that Time hangs around us, to shut 
us in from eternity, cannot be quite effaced by 
the succeeding phantasmagoria, and sometimes, 
172 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


by a palimpsest, show more strongly than 
they.^ 

In the course of the morning, however, he 
was a little too feelingly made sensible of reali¬ 
ties by the visit of a surgeon, who proceeded to 
examine the wound in his shoulder, removing 
the bandages which he himself seemed to have 
put upon this mysterious hurt. The traveller 
closed his eyes, and submitted to the manipula¬ 
tions of the professional person, painful as they 
were, assisted by the gentle touch of the old 
palmer; and there was something in the way 
in which he resigned himself that met the ap¬ 
probation of the surgeon, in spite of a little 
fever, and slight delirium too, to judge by his 
eye. 

“ A very quiet and well-behaved patient,” 
said he to the palmer. Unless I greatly mis¬ 
take, he has been under the surgeon’s hand for 
a similar hurt ere now. He has learned under 
good discipline how to take such a thing easily. 
Yes, yes; just here is a mark where a bullet 
went in some time ago, — three or four years 
since, when he could have been little more than 
a boy. A wild fellow this, I doubt.” 

“It was an Indian bullet,” said the patient, 
still fancying himself gone astray into the past, 
“ shot at me in battle ; ’t was three hundred 
years hereafter.” 


173 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


‘‘ Ah ! he has served in the East Indies,” said 
the surgeon. ‘‘ I thought this sunburned cheek 
had taken its hue elsewhere than in England.” 

The patient did not care to take the trouble 
which would have been involved in correcting 
the surgeon’s surmise; so he let it pass, and 
patiently awaited the end of the examination, 
with only a moan or two, which seemed rather 
pleasing and desirable than otherwise to the 
surgeon’s ear. 

“He has vitality enough for his needs,” said 
he, nodding to the palmer. “ These groans 
betoken a good degree of pain; though the 
young fellow is evidently a self-contained sort 
of nature, and does not let us know all he feels. 
It promises well, however ; keep him in bed 
and quiet, and within a day or two we shall see.” 

He wrote a recipe, or two or three, perhaps 
(for in those days the medical fraternity had 
faith in their own art), and took his leave. 

The white-bearded palmer withdrew into the 
half-concealment of the oratory which we have 
already mentioned, and then, putting on a pair 
of spectacles, betook himself to the perusal of 
an old folio volume, the leaves of which he 
turned over so gently that not the slightest 
sound could possibly disturb the patient. All 
his manifestations were gentle and soft, but of 
a simplicity most unlike the feline softness 
which we are apt to associate with a noiseless 

174 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


tread and movement in the male sex. The sun¬ 
shine came through the ivy and glimmered upon 
his great book, however, with an effect which 
a little disturbed the patient’s nerves; besides, 
he desired to have a fuller view of his benign 
guardian. 

‘‘ Will you sit nearer the bedside ? ” said he. 
“ I wish to look at you.” 

Weakness, the relaxation of nerves, and the 
state of dependence on another’s care — very 
long unfelt—had made ♦him betray what we 
must call childishness; and it was perceptible 
in the low half-complaining tone in which he 
spoke, indicating a consciousness of kindness 
in the other, a little plaintiveness in himself; 
of which, the next instant, weak and wandering 
as he was, he was ashamed, and essayed to ex¬ 
press it.^ 

“You must deem me very poor-spirited,” 
said he, “ not to bear this trifling hurt with a 
firmer mind. But perhaps it is not entirely that 
I am so weak, but I feel you to be so benign.” 

“ Be weak, and be the stronger for it,” said 
the old man, with a grave smile. “ It is not in 
the pride of our strength that we are best or 
wisest. To be made anew, we even must be 
again a little child, and consent to be enwrapt 
quietly in the arms of Providence, as a child in 
its mother’s arms.” 

“ I never knew a mother’s care,” replied the 

175 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


traveller, in a low, regretful tone, being weak to 
the incoming of all soft feelings, in his present 
state. ‘‘ Since my boyhood, I have lived among 
men, — a life of struggle and hard rivalry. It 
is good to find myself here in the long past, 
and in a sheltered harbor.” 

And here he smiled, by way of showing to 
this old palmer that he saw through the slight 
infirmity of mind that impelled him to say such 
things as the above; that he was not its dupe, 
though he had not strength, just now, to resist 
its impulse. After this he dozed off softly, and 
felt through all his sleep some twinges of his 
wound, bringing him back, as it were, to the 
conscious surface of the great deep of slumber, 
into which he might otherwise have sunk. At 
all such brief intervals, half unclosing his eyes 
(like a child, when the mother sits by his bed, 
and he fears that she will steal away if he falls 
quite asleep, and leave him in the dark solitude), 
he still beheld the white-bearded, kindly old 
man, of saintly aspect, sitting near him, and 
turning over the pages of his folio volume so 
softly that not the faintest rustle did it make ; 
the picture at length got so fully into his idea, 
that he seemed to see it even through his closed 
eyelids. After a while, however, the slumber¬ 
ous tendency left him more entirely, and, with¬ 
out having been consciously awake, he found 
himself contemplating the old man, with wide- 
176 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


open eyes. The venerable personage seemed 
soon to feel his gaze, and, ceasing to look at 
the folio, he turned his eyes with quiet inquiry 
to meet those of the stranger.® 

“What great volume is that ? ** asked the 
latter.® 

“It is a book of English chronicles,** said 
the old man, “ mostly relating to the part of the 
island where you now are, and to times previ¬ 
ous to the Stuarts.** 

“ Ah ! it is to you, a contemporary, what 
reading the newspaper is to other men,** said 
the stranger; then, with a smile of self-reproach, 
“ I shall conquer this idle mood. I *m not so 
imbecile as you must think me. But there is 
something that strangely haunts me, — where, 
in what state of being, can I have seen your 
face before? There is nothing in it I distinctly 
remember; but some impression, some charac¬ 
teristic, some look, with which I have been long 
ago familiar, haunts me and brings back all old 
scenes. Do you know me ? ** 

The old man smiled. “ I knew, long ago, 
a bright and impressible boy,’* said he. 

“ And his name ? ** said the stranger. 

“ It was Edward Redclyffe,** said the old man. 

“ Ah, I see who you are,** said the traveller, 
not too earnestly, but with a soft, gratified feel¬ 
ing, as the riddle thus far solved itself. “ You 
are my old kindly instructor. You are Colcord I 
177 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


That is it. I remember you disappeared. You 
shall tell me, when I am quite myself, what was 
that mystery, — and whether it is your real self, 
or only a part of my dream, and going to van¬ 
ish when I quite awake. Now I shall sleep and 
dream more of it.” 

One more waking interval he had that day, 
and again essayed to enter into conversation 
with the old man, who had thus strangely again 
become connected with his life, after having so 
long vanished from his path. 

‘‘ Where am I ? ” asked Edward Redclyffe. 

“In the home of misfortune,” said Colcord. 

“ Ah! then I have a right to be here! ” said 
he. “ I was born in such a home. Do you 
remember it ? ” 

“ I know your story,” said Colcord. 

“Yes; from Doctor Grim,” said Edward. 
“ People whispered he had made away with you. 
I never believed it; but finding you here in this 
strange way, and myself having been shot, per¬ 
haps to death, it seems not so strange. Pooh ! 
I wander again, and ought to sleep a little more. 
And this is the home of misfortune, but not like 
the squalid place of rage, idiocy, imbecility, 
drunkenness, where I was born. How many 
times I have blushed to remember that native 
home ! But not of late ! I have struggled ; I 
have fought; I have triumphed. The unknown 
boy has come to be no undistinguished man! 

178 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


His ancestry, should he ever reveal himself to 
them, need not blush for the poor foundling/* 

“ Hush ! ** said the quiet watcher. “ Your 
fever burns you. Take this draught, and sleep 
a little longer.” ^ 

Another day or two found Edward Redclyffe 
almost a convalescent. The singular lack of 
impatience that characterized his present mood 

— the repose of spirit into which he had lapsed 

— had much to do with the favorable progress 
of his cure. After strife, anxiety, great mental 
exertion, and excitement of various kinds, which 
had harassed him ever since he grew to be a 
man, had come this opportunity of perfect rest; 

— this dream in the midst of which he lay, while 
its magic boundaries involved him, and kept far 
off the contact of actual life, so that its sounds 
and tumults seemed remote ; its cares could not 
fret him; its ambitions, objects good or evil, 
were shut out from him ; the electric wires that 
had connected him with the battery of life were 
broken for the time, and he did not feel the un¬ 
quiet influence that kept everybody else in gal¬ 
vanic motion. So, under the benign influence 
of the old palmer, he lay in slumberous luxury, 
undisturbed save by some twinges of no intol¬ 
erable pain ; which, however, he almost was glad 
of, because it made him sensible that this deep 
luxury of quiet was essential to his cure, how¬ 
ever idle it might seem. For the first time since 

179 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

he was a child, he resigned himself not to put a 
finger to the evolution of his fortune ; he deter¬ 
mined to accept all things that might happen, 
good or evil; he would not imagine an event 
beyond to-day, but would let one spontaneous 
and half-defined thought loiter after another, 
through his mind; listen to the spattering 
shower, —^ the puffs of shut-out wind ; and look 
with half-shut eyes at the sunshine glimmering 
through the ivy twigs, and illuminating those old 
devices on the wall; at the gathering twilight; 
at the dim lamp; at the creeping upward of 
another day, and with it the lark sin^ng so far 
away that the thrill of its delicious song could 
not disturb him with an impulse to awake. 
Sweet as its carol was, he could almost have 
been content to miss the lark; sweet and clear, 
it was too like a fairy trumpet call, summoning 
him to awake and struggle again with eager 
combatants for new victories, the best of which 
were not worth this deep repose. 

The old palmer did his best to prolong a 
mood so beneficial to the wounded young man. 
The surgeon also nodded approval, and attrib¬ 
uted this happy state of the patient’s mind, 
and all the physical advantages growing out of 
it, to his own consummate skill; nor, indeed, 
was he undeserving of credit, not often to be 
awarded to medical men, for having done no¬ 
thing to impede the good which kind Nature 
i8o 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


was willing to bring about. She was doing the 
patient more good, indeed, than either the sur¬ 
geon or the palmer could fully estimate, in tak¬ 
ing this opportunity to recreate a mind that had 
too early known stirring impulse, and that had 
been worked to a degree beyond what its or¬ 
ganization (in some respects singularly delicate) 
ought to have borne. Once in a long while 
the weary actors in the headlong drama of life 
must have such repose, or else go mad or die. 
When the machinery of human life has once 
been stopped by sickness or other impediment, 
it often needs an impulse to set it going again, 
even after it is nearly wound up. 

But it could not last forever. The influx of 
new life into his being began to have a poign¬ 
ancy that would not let him lie so quietly, 
lapped in the past, in gone-by centuries, and 
waited on by quiet Age, in the person of the 
old palmer ; he began to feel again that he was 
young, and must live in the time when his lot 
was cast. He began to say to himself, that it 
was not well to be any longer passive, but that 
he must again take the troublesome burden of 
his own life on his own shoulders. He thought 
of this necessity, this duty, throughout one 
whole day, and determined that on the morrow 
he would make the first step towards terminating 
his inaction, which he now began to be half im¬ 
patient of, at the same time that he clutched it 

i8i 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

still, for the sake of the deliciousness that it had 
had. 

“To-morrow, I hope to be clothed and in 
my right mind,” said he to the old palmer, 
“ and very soon I must thank you, with my 
whole heart, for your kind care, and go. It is 
a shame that I burden the hospitality of this 
house so long.” 

“No shame whatever,” replied the old man, 
“ but, on the contrary, the fittest thing that 
could have chanced. You are dependent on no 
private benevolence, nor on the good offices of 
any man now living, or who has lived these last 
three hundred years. This ancient establish¬ 
ment is for the support of poverty, misfortune, 
and age, and, according to the word of the 
founder, it serves him: — he was indebted to 
the beneficiaries, not they to him, for, in re¬ 
turn for his temporal bequests, he asked their 
prayers for his souEs welfare. He needed them, 
could they avail him ; for this ponderous struc¬ 
ture was built upon the founder's mortal trans¬ 
gressions, and even, I may say, out of the actual 
substance of them. Sir Edward Redclyffe was 
a fierce fighter in the Wars of the Roses, and 
amassed much wealth by spoil, rapine, confisca¬ 
tion, and all violent and evil ways that those 
disturbed times opened to him; and on his 
deathbed he founded this Hospital for twelve 
men, who should be able to prove kindred with 
182 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 

his race, to dwell here with a stipend, and pray 
for him; and likewise provision for a sick 
stranger, until he should be able to go on his 
way again/* 

‘‘ I shall pray for him willingly,** said Edward, 
moved by the pity which awaits any softened 
state of our natures to steal into our hearts. 
‘‘ Though no Catholic, I will pray for his soul. 
And that is his crest which you wear embroid¬ 
ered on your garment ? ** 

“ It is,** said the old man. “You will see it 
carved, painted, embroidered, everywhere about 
the establishment; but let us give it the better 
and more reasonable interpretation; — not that 
he sought to proclaim his own pride of ancestry 
and race, but to acknowledge his sins the more 
manifestly, by stamping the emblem of his race 
on this structure of his penitence.** 

“And are you,** said Redclyffe, impressed 
anew by the quiet dignity of the venerable 
speaker, “ in authority in the establishment ? ** 
“ A simple beneficiary of the charity,** said 
the palmer; “ one of the twelve poor brethren 
and kinsmen of the founder. Slighter proofs 
of kindred are now of necessity received, since, 
in the natural course of things, the race has long 
been growing scarce. But I had it in my power 
to make out a sufficient claim.** 

“ Singular,** exclaimed Redclyffe, “ you being 
an American ! ** ® 


183 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


“ You remember me, then,'' said the old man 
quietly. 

“ From the first," said Edward, although 
your image took the fantastic aspect of the be¬ 
wilderment in which I then was ; and now that 
I am in clearer state of mind, it seems yet 
stranger that you should be here. We two 
children thought you translated, and people, I 
remember, whispered dark hints about your 
fate." 

There was nothing wonderful in my disap¬ 
pearance," said the old man. “ There were 
causes, an impulse, an intuition, that made me 
feel, one particular night, that I might meet 
harm, whether from myself or others, by re¬ 
maining in a place with which I had the most 
casual connection. But I never, so long as I 
remained in America, quite lost sight of you ; 
and Doctor Grimshawe, before his death, had 
knowledge of where I was, and gave me in 
charge a duty which I faithfully endeavored to 
perform. Singular man that he was! much 
evil, much good in him. Both, it may be, will 
live after him ! " 

Redclyffe, when the conversation had reached 
this point, felt a vast desire to reveal to the old 
man all that the grim Doctor had instilled into 
his childish mind; all that he himself, in sub¬ 
sequent years, had wrought more definitely out 
of it; all his accompanying doubts respecting 
184 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 


the secret of his birth and some supposed claims 
which he might assert, and which, only half 
acknowledging the purpose, had availed to bring 
him, a republican, hither as to an ancestral 
centre. He even fancied that the benign old 
man seemed to expect and await such a confi¬ 
dence ; but that very idea contributed to make 
it impossible for him to speak. 

“ Another time,*' he said to himself. ‘‘ Per¬ 
haps never. It is a fantastic folly; and with what 
the workhouse foundling has since achieved, he 
would give up too many hopes to take the re¬ 
presentation of a mouldy old English family.** 

“ I find my head still very weak,** said he, by 
way of cutting short the conversation. “ I must 
try to sleep again.** 


CHAPTER XIV 


T he next day he called for his clothes, 
and, with the assistance of the pen¬ 
sioner, managed to be dressed, and 
awaited the arrival of the surgeon, sitting in a 
great easy-chair, with not much except his pale, 
thin cheeks, dark, thoughtful eyes, and his arm 
in a sling, to show the pain and danger through 
which he had passed. Soon after the departure 
of the professional gentleman, a step somewhat 
louder than ordinary was heard on the staircase, 
and in the corridor leading to the sick-chamber, 
— the step (as Redclyffe’s perceptions, nicely 
attempered by his weakness, assured him) of a 
man in perfect and robust health, and of station 
and authority. A moment afterwards, a gentle¬ 
man of middle age, or a little beyond, appeared 
in the doorway, in a dress that seemed clerical, 
yet not very decidedly so; he had a frank, 
kindly, yet authoritative bearing, and a face that 
might almost be said to beam with geniality, 
when, as now, the benevolence of his nature was 
aroused and ready to express itself. 

My friend,” said he, ‘‘ Doctor Portingale 
tells me you are much better; and I am most 
happy to hear it.” 


i86 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


There was something brusque and unceremo¬ 
nious in his manner, that a little jarred against 
RedclyfFe’s sensitiveness, which had become 
morbid in sympathy with his weakness. He 
felt that the newcomer had not probably the 
right idea as to his own position in life; he was 
addressing him most kindly, indeed, but as an 
inferior. 

“ I am much better, sir,” he replied gravely, 
and with reserve; so nearly well, that I shall 
very soon be able to bid farewell to my kind 
nurse here, and to this ancient establishment, to 
which I owe so much.” 

The visitor seemed struck by Mr. Red- 
clyffe’s tone and finely modulated voice, and 
glanced at his face, and then over his dress and 
figure, as if to gather from them some reliable 
data as to his station. 

‘‘ I am the Warden of this Hospital,” said he, 
with not less benignity than heretofore, and 
greater courtesy; and, in that capacity, must 
consider you under my care, — as my guest, in 
fact, — although, owing to my casual absence, 
one of the brethren of the house has been the 
active instrument in attending you. I am most 
happy to find you so far recovered. Do you 
feel yourself in a condition to give any account 
of the accident which has befallen you ? ” 

“It will be a very unsatisfactory one, at 
best,” said Redclyffe, trying to discover some 
187 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


definite point in his misty reminiscences. ‘‘ I am 
a stranger to this country, and was on a pedes¬ 
trian tour with the purpose of making myself 
acquainted with the aspects of English scenery 
and life. I had turned into a footpath, being 
told that it would lead me within view of an old 
Hall, which, from certain early associations, I 
was very desirous of seeing. I think I went 
astray ; at all events, the path became indistinct; 
and, so far as I can recollect, I had just turned 
to retrace my steps, — in fact, that is the last 
thing in my memory.'* 

“ You had almost fallen a sacrifice,” said 
the Warden, “ to the old preference which our 
English gentry have inherited from their Nor¬ 
man ancestry, of game to man. You had come 
unintentionally as an intruder into a rich pre¬ 
serve much haunted by poachers, and exposed 
yourself to the deadly mark of a spring gun, 
which had not the wit to distinguish between a 
harmless traveller and a poacher. At least, such 
is our conclusion ; for our old friend here (who 
luckily for you is a great rambler in the woods), 
when the report drew him to the spot, found 
you insensible, and the gun discharged.” 

‘‘ A gun has so little discretion,” said Red- 
clyffe, smiling, “ that it seems a pity to trust 
entirely to its judgment, in a matter of life and 
death. But, to confess the truth, I had come 
this morning to the suspicion that there was a 

i88 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


direct human agency in the matter; for I find 
missing a little pocketbook which I carried.” 

“ Then,” said the Warden, “ that certainly 
gives a new aspect to the affair. Was it of 
value ? ” 

“ Of none whatever,” said Redclyffe, ‘‘ merely 
containing pencil memoranda, and notes of a 
traveller’s little expenses. I had papers about 
me of far more value, and a moderate sum of 
money, a letter of credit, which have escaped. I 
do not, however, feel inclined, on such grounds, 
to transfer the guilt decidedly from the spring 
gun to any more responsible criminal; for it is 
very possible that the pocketbook, being care¬ 
lessly carried, might have been lost on the way. 
I had not used it since the preceding day.” 

“ Much more probable, indeed,” said the 
Warden. “ The discharged gun is strong evi¬ 
dence against itself. Mr. Colcord,” continued 
he, raising his voice, “ how long was the interval 
between the discharge of the gun and your ar¬ 
rival on the spot ? ” 

‘‘ Five minutes, or less,” said the old man, 
‘Tor I was not far off, and made what haste I 
could, it being borne in on my spirit that mis¬ 
chief was abroad.” 

“ Did you hear two reports ? ” asked the 
Warden. 

“ Only one,” replied Colcord. 

“ It is a plain case against the spring gun,” 
189 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


said the Warden ; ‘‘ and, as you tell me you are 
a stranger, I trust you will not suppose that 
our peaceful English woods and parks are the 
haunt of banditti. We must try to give you 
a better idea of us. May I ask, are you an 
American, and recently come among us ? 

“ I believe a letter of credit is considered as 
decisive as most modes of introduction,'* said 
Redclylfe, feeling that the good Warden was 
desirous of knowing with some precision who 
and what he was, and that, in the circumstances, 
he had a right to such knowledge. ‘‘ Here is 
mine, on a respectable house in London.** 

The Warden took it and glanced it over, with 
a slight apologetic bow; it was a credit for a 
handsome amount in favor of the Honorable 
Edward Redclyffe, a title that did not fail to 
impress the Englishman rather favorably to- 
wards his new acquaintance, although he hap- 
pened to know something of their abundance, 
even so early in the republic, among the men 
branded sons of equality. But, at all events, it 
showed no ordinary ability and energy for so 
young a man to have held such position as this 
title denoted in the fiercely contested political 
struggles of the new democracy. 

“ Do you know, Mr. Redclyffe, that this 
name is familiar to us, hereabouts ? ** asked he, 
with a kindly bow and recognition, — “ that 
it is in fact the principal name in this neighbor- 
190 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


hood, — that a family of your name still pos¬ 
sesses Braithwaite Hall, and that this very 
Hospital, where you have happily found shel¬ 
ter, was founded by former representatives of 
your name ? Perhaps you count yourself among 
their kindred.” 

‘‘ My countrymen are apt to advance claims 
to kinship with distinguished English families 
on such slight grounds as to make it ridiculous,” 
said Redclyffe, coloring. “ I should not choose 
to follow so absurd an example.” 

“ Well, well, perhaps not,” said the Warden, 
laughing frankly. “ I have been amongst your 
republicans myself, a long while ago, and saw 
that your countrymen have no adequate idea of 
the sacredness of pedigrees and heraldic dis¬ 
tinctions, and would change their own names at 
pleasure, and vaunt kindred with an English 
duke on the strength of the assumed one. But 
I am happy to meet an American gentleman 
who looks upon this matter as Englishmen ne¬ 
cessarily mmst. I met with great kindness in 
your country, Mr. Redclyife, and shall be truly 
happy if you will allow me an opportunity of 
returning some small part of the obligation. 
You are now in a condition for removal to my 
own quarters, across the quadrangle. I will 
give orders to prepare an apartment, and you 
must transfer yourself there by dinner time.” 

With this hospitable proposal, so decisively 
191 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


expressed, the Warden took his leave ; and 
Edward RedclyfFe had hardly yet recovered 
sufficient independent force to reject an invi¬ 
tation so put, even were he inclined; but, in 
truth, the proposal suited well with his wishes, 
such as they were, and was, moreover, backed, 
it is singular to say, by another of those dream¬ 
like recognitions which had so perplexed him 
ever since he found himself in the Hospital. 
In some previous state of being, the Warden 
and he had talked together before. 

“What is the Warden’s name ? ” he inquired 
of the old pensioner. 

“ Hammond,” said the old man ; “ he is a 
kinsman of the Redclyffe family himself, a man 
of fortune, and spends more than the income of 
his wardenship in beautifying and keeping up 
the glory of the establishment. He takes great 
pride in it.” 

“ And he has been in America,” said Red¬ 
clyffe. “ How strange ! I knew him there. 
Never was anything so singular as the discovery 
of old acquaintances where I had reason to sup¬ 
pose myself unknowing and unknown. Unless 
dear Doctor Grim, or dear little Elsie, were to 
start up and greet me, I know not what may 
chance next.” 

Redclyffe took up his quarters in the War¬ 
den’s house the next day, and was installed in 
an apartment that made a picture, such as he 
192 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


had not before seen, of English household com¬ 
fort, He was thus established under the good 
Warden's roof, and, being very attractive of 
most people's sympathies, soon began to grow 
greatly in favor with that kindly personage. 

When Edward Redclylfe removed from the 
old pensioner's narrow quarters to the far am¬ 
pler accommodations of the Warden's house, the 
latter gentleman was taking his morning exer¬ 
cise on horseback. A servant, however, in a 
grave livery, ushered him to an apartment, 
where the new guest was surprised to see some 
luggage which two or three days before Edward 
had ordered from London, on finding that his 
stay in this part of the country was likely to be 
much longer than he had originally contem¬ 
plated. The sight of these things — the sense 
which they conveyed that he was an expected 
and welcome guest — tended to raise the spirits 
of the solitary wanderer, and made him , , . } 

The Warden's abode was an original part of 
the ancient establishment, being an entire side 
of the quadrangle which the whole edifice sur¬ 
rounded ; and for the establishment of a bache¬ 
lor (which was his new friend's condition), it 
seemed to Edward Redclyffe abundantly spa¬ 
cious and enviably comfortable. His own cham¬ 
ber had a grave, rich depth, as it were, of serene 
and time-long garniture, for purposes of repose, 
convenience, daily and nightly comfort, that it 
193 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


was soothing even to look at. Long accus¬ 
tomed, as RedclyfFe had been, to the hardy and 
rude accommodations, if so they were to be 
called, of log huts and hasty, mud-built houses 
in the Western States of America, life, its daily 
habits, its passing accommodations, seemed to 
assume an importance, under these aspects, 
which it had not worn before; those deep downy 
beds, those antique chairs, the heavy carpet, the 
tester and curtains, the stateliness of the old 
room, — they had a charm as compared with 
the thin preparation of a forester's bedchamber, 
such as Redclyffe had chiefly known them, in 
the ruder parts of the country, that really seemed 
to give a more substantial value to life ; so 
much pains had been taken with its modes and 
appliances, that it looked more solid than be¬ 
fore. Nevertheless, there was something ghostly 
in that stately curtained bed, with the deep gloom 
within its drapery, so ancient as it was; and 
suggestive of slumberers there who had long 
since slumbered elsewhere. 

The old servant, whose grave, circumspect 
courtesy was a matter quite beyond Redclyffe's 
experience, soon knocked at the chamber door, 
and suggested that the guest might desire to 
await the Warden’s arrival in the library, which 
was the customary sitting room. Redclyffe as¬ 
senting, he was ushered into a spacious apart¬ 
ment, lighted by various Gothic windows, sur- 
194 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


rounded with old oaken cases, in which were 
ranged volumes, most or many of which seemed 
to be coeval with the foundation of the Hospi¬ 
tal ; and opening one of them, Redclyife saw 
for the first time in his life ^ a genuine book¬ 
worm, that ancient form of creature living upon 
literature ; it had gnawed a circular hole, pene¬ 
trating through perhaps a score of pages of the 
seldom opened volume, and was still at his 
musty feast. There was a fragrance of old 
learning in this ancient library; a soothing in¬ 
fluence, as the American felt, of time-honored 
ideas, where the strife, novelties, uneasy agitat¬ 
ing conflict, attrition of unsettled theories, fresh- 
springing thought, did not attain a foothold; a 
good place to spend a life which should not be 
agitated with the disturbing element; so quiet, 
so peaceful; how slowly, with how little wear, 
would the years pass here ! How unlike what 
he had hitherto known, and was destined to 
know, — the quick, violent struggle of his 
mother country, which had traced lines in his 
young brow already! How much would be 
saved by taking his former existence, not as 
dealing with things yet malleable, but with fos¬ 
sils, things that had had their life, and now 
were unchangeable, and revered, here! 

At one end of this large room there was a 
bowed window, the space near which was cur¬ 
tained off from the rest of the library, and, the 

195 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

window being filled with painted glass (most of 
which seemed old, though there were insertions 
evidently of modern and much inferior handi¬ 
work), there was a rich gloom of light, or you 
might call it a rich glow, according to your 
mood of mind. Redclyffe soon perceived that 
this curtained recess was the especial study of 
his friend, the Warden, and as such was pro¬ 
vided with all that modern times had contrived 
for making an enjoyment out of the perusal of 
old books: a study table, with every conven¬ 
ience of multifarious devices, a great inkstand, 
pens ; a luxurious study chair, where thought 
[illegible] upon. To say the truth, there was 
not, in this retired and thoughtful nook, any¬ 
thing that indicated to Redclyffe that the War¬ 
den had been recently engaged in consultation 
of learned authorities, — or in abstract labor, 
whether moral, metaphysical, or historic : there 
was a volume of translations of Mother Goose’s 
Melodies into Greek and Latin, printed for 
private circulation, and with the Warden’s name 
on the title-page ; a London newspaper of the 
preceding day ; Lillebullero, Chevy Chase, and 
the old political ballads; and, what a little 
amused Redclyffe, the three volumes of a novel 
from a circulating library ; so that Redclyffe 
came to the conclusion that the good Warden, 
like many educated men, whose early scholas¬ 
tic propensities are backed up by the best of 
196 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


opportunities, and all desirable facilities and sur¬ 
roundings, still contented himself with gather¬ 
ing a flower or two, instead of attempting the 
hard toil requisite to raise a crop. 

It must not be omitted, that there was a fra¬ 
grance in the room, which, unlike as the scene 
was, brought back, through so many years, to 
Redclyffe's mind a most vivid remembrance of 
poor old Doctor Grim's squalid chamber, with 
his wild, bearded presence in the midst of it, 
puffing his everlasting cloud; for here was the 
same smell of tobacco, and on the mantelpiece 
of a chimney lay a German pipe, and an old 
silver tobacco box into which was wrought the 
leopard's head and the inscription in black let¬ 
ter. The Warden had evidently availed him¬ 
self of one of the chief bachelor sources of com¬ 
fort. Redclyffe, whose destiny had hitherto, 
and up to a very recent period, been to pass a 
feverishly active life, was greatly impressed by 
all these tokens of learned ease, — a degree of 
self-indulgence combined with duties enough to 
quiet an otherwise uneasy conscience, — by the 
consideration that this pensioner acted a good 
part in a world where no one is entitled to be 
an unprofitable laborer. He thought within 
himself, that his prospects in his own galvanized 
country, that seemed to him, a few years since, 
to offer such a career for an adventurous young 
man, conscious of motive power, had nothing 
197 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


so enticing as such a nook as this, — a quiet 
recess of unchangeable old time, around which 
the turbulent tide now eddied and rushed, but 
could not disturb it. Here, to be sure, hope, 
love, ambition, came not, progress came not; 
but here was what, just now, the early wearied 
American could appreciate better than aught 
else, — here was rest. 

The fantasy took Edward to imitate the use¬ 
ful labors of the learned Warden, and to make 
trial whether his own classical condition — the 
results of Doctor Grim’s tuition, and subse¬ 
quently that of an American College — had ut¬ 
terly deserted him, by attempting a translation 
of a few verses of Yankee Doodle ; and he was 
making hopeful progress when the Warden 
came in fresh and rosy from a morning’s ride 
in a keen east wind. He shook hands heartily 
with his guest, and, though by no means frigid 
at their former interview, seemed to have de¬ 
veloped at once into a kindlier man, now that 
he had suffered the stranger to cross his thresh¬ 
old, and had thus made himself responsible for 
his comfort. 

“ I shall take it greatly amiss,” said he, “ if 
you do not pick up fast under my roof, and 
gather a little English ruddiness, moreover, in 
the walks and rides that I mean to take you. 
Your countrymen, as I saw them, are a sallow 
set; but I think you must have English blood 
198 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


enough in your veins to eke out a ruddy tint, 
with the help of good English beef and ale, and 
daily draughts of wholesome light and air/’ 

“ My cheeks would not have been so very 
pale,” said Edward, laughing, ‘‘if an English 
shot had not deprived me of a good deal of my 
American blood.” 

“ Only follow my guidance,” said the War¬ 
den, “ and I assure you you shall have back 
whatever blood we have deprived you of, to¬ 
gether with an addition. It is now luncheon 
time, and we will begin the process of replen¬ 
ishing your veins.” 

So they went into a refectory, where were 
spread upon the board what might have seemed 
a goodly dinner to most Americans; though 
for this Englishman it was but a by-incident, a 
slight refreshment, to enable him to pass the 
midway stage of life. It is an excellent thing 
to see the faith of a hearty Englishman in his 
own stomach, and how well that kindly organ 
repays his trust; with what devout assimilation 
he takes to himself his kindred beef, loving it, 
believing in it, making a good use of it, and 
without any qualms of conscience or prescience 
as to the result. They surely eat twice as much 
as we; and probably because of their undoubted 
faith it never docs them any harm. Dyspepsia 
is merely a superstition with us. If we could 
cease to believe in its existence, it would exist 
199 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE'S SECRET 


no more. Redclyffe, eating little himself, his 
wound compelling him to be cautious as to his 
diet, was secretly delighted to see what sweets 
the Warden found in a cold round of beef, in a 
pigeon pie, and a cut or two of Yorkshire ham; 
not that he was ravenous, but that his stomach 
was so healthy. 

‘‘ You eat little, my friend,” said the Warden, 
pouring out a glass of sherry for Redclyffe, and 
another for himself. ‘‘ But you are right, in 
such a predicament as yours. Spare your stom¬ 
ach while you are weakly, and it will help you 
when you are strong. This, now, is the most 
enjoyable meal of the day with me. You will 
not see me play such a knife and fork at din¬ 
ner ; though there too, especially if I have rid¬ 
den out in the afternoon, I do pretty well. 
But, come now, if (like most of your country¬ 
men, as I have heard) you are a lover of the 
weed, I can offer you some as delicate Latakia 
as you are likely to find in England.” 

‘‘ I lack that claim upon your kindness, I am 
sorry to say,” replied Redclyffe. “ I am not a 
good smoker, though I have occasionally taken 
a cigar at need.” 

“ Well, when you find yourself growing old, 
and especially if you chance to be a bachelor, I 
advise you to cultivate the habit,” said the 
Warden. ‘‘ A wife is the only real obstacle or 
objection to a pipe ; they can seldom be thor- 
200 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 

oughly reconciled, and therefore it is well for a 
man to consider, beforehand, which of the two 
he can best dispense with. I know not how it 
might have been once, had the conflicting claim 
of these two rivals ever been fairly presented to 
me; but I now should be at no loss to choose 
the pipe.*' 

They returned to the study; and while the 
Warden took his pipe, Redclyffe, considering 
that, as the guest of this hospitable Englishman, 
he had no right to continue a stranger, thought 
it fit to make known to him who he was, and 
his condition, plans, and purposes. He repre¬ 
sented himself as having been liberally educated, 
bred to the law, but (to his misfortune) having 
turned aside from that profession to engage in 
politics. In this pursuit, indeed, his success 
wore a flattering outside; for he had become dis¬ 
tinguished, and, though so young, a leader, lo¬ 
cally at least, in the party which he had adopted. 
He had been, for a biennial term, a member of 
Congress, after winning some distinction in the 
legislature of his native State ; but some one of 
those fitful changes to which American politics 
are peculiarly liable had thrown him out, in his 
candidacy for his second term ; and the virulence 
of party animosity, the abusiveness of the press, 
had acted so much upon a disposition naturally 
somewhat too sensitive for the career which he 
had undertaken, that he had resolved, being now 
201 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


freed from legislative cares, to seize the oppor¬ 
tunity for a visit to England, whither he was 
drawn by feelings which every educated and im¬ 
pressible American feels, in a degree scarcely 
conceivable by the English themselves. And 
being here (but he had already too much expe¬ 
rience of English self-sufficiency to confess so 
much), he began to feel the deep yearning which 
a sensitive American — his mind full of English 
thoughts, his imagination of English poetry, his 
heart of English character and sentiment— can¬ 
not fail to be influenced by, — the yearning of 
the blood within his veins for that from which 
it has been estranged; the half-fanciful regret 
that he should ever have been separated from 
these woods, these fields, these natural features 
of scenery, to which his nature was moulded, 
from the men who are still so like himself, from 
these habits of life and thought which (though 
he may not have known them for two centu¬ 
ries) he still perceives to have remained in some 
mysterious way latent in the depths of his char¬ 
acter, and soon to be reassumed, not as a for¬ 
eigner would do it, but like habits native to him, 
and only suspended for a season. 

This had been Redclyffe's state of feeling ever 
since he landed in England, and every day 
seemed to make him more at home; so that it 
seemed as if he were gradually awakening to a 
former reality. 


202 


CHAPTER XV 


AFTER lunch the Warden showed a good 
/-A degree of kind anxiety about his guest, 
and ensconced him in a most comfort¬ 
able chair in his study, where he gave him his 
choice of books old and new, and was somewhat 
surprised, as well as amused, to see that Red¬ 
dy ffe seemed most attracted towards a depart¬ 
ment of the library filled with books of English 
antiquities, and genealogies, and heraldry; the 
two latter, indeed, having the preference over the 
others. 

“ This is very remarkable,** said he, smiling. 
“ By what right or reason, by what logic of 
character, can you, a democrat, renouncing all 
advantages of birth, — neither priding yourself 
on family, nor seeking to found one, — how 
therefore can you care for genealogies, or for 
this fantastic science of heraldry ? Having no 
antiquities, being a people just made, how can 
you care for them ? ** 

“ My dear sir,** said RedclyflTe, “ I doubt 
whether the most devoted antiquarian in Eng¬ 
land ever cares to search for an old thing merely 
because it is old, as any American just landed 
on your shores would do. Age is oiir novelty; 

203 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


therefore it attracts and absorbs us. And as for 
genealogies, I know not what necessary repul¬ 
sion there may be between it and democracy. 
A line of respectable connections, being the 
harder to preserve where there is nothing in the 
laws to defend it, is therefore the more precious 
when we have it really to boast of.*' 

“ True," said the Warden, ‘‘ when a race 
keeps itself distinguished among the grimy order 
of your commonalty, all with equal legal rights 
to place and eminence as itself, it must needs be 
because there is a force and efficacy in the blood. 
I doubt not," he said, looking with the free ap¬ 
proval of an elder man at the young man's finely 
developed face and graceful form, — ‘‘I doubt 
not that you can look back upon a line of an¬ 
cestry, always shining out from the surrounding 
obscurity of the mob." 

Redclyffe, though ashamed of himself, could 
not but feel a paltry confusion and embarrass¬ 
ment, as he thought of his unknown origin, and 
his advent from the almshouse ; coming out of 
that squalid darkness as if he were a thing that 
had had a spontaneous birth out of poverty, 
meanness, petty crime ; and here in ancestral 
England, he felt more keenly than ever before 
what was his misfortune. 

“I must not let you lie under this impres¬ 
sion," said he manfully to the Warden. I 
have no ancestry; at the very first step my 
204 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


origin is lost in impenetrable obscurity. I only 
know that but for the aid of a kind friend — on 
whose benevolence 1 seem to have had no claim 
whatever — my life would probably have been 
poor, mean, unenlightened.” 

“Well, well,” said the kind Warden,— 
hardly quite feeling, however, the noble senti¬ 
ment which he expressed, — “ it is better to be 
the first noble illustrator of a name than even 
the worthy heir of a name that has been noble 
and famous for a thousand years. The highest 
pride of some of our peers, who have won their 
rank by their own force, has been to point to 
the cottage whence they sprung. Your poster¬ 
ity, at all events, will have the advantage of you, 
— they will know their ancestor.” 

Redclylfe sighed, for there was truly a great 
deal of the foolish yearning for a connection 
with the past about him; his imagination had 
taken this turn, and the very circumstances* of 
his obscure birth gave it a field to exercise it¬ 
self. 

“ I advise you,” said the Warden, by way of 
changing the conversation, “ to look over the 
excellent history of the county which you are 
now in. There is no reading better, to my 
mind, than these county histories ; though 
doubtless a stranger would hardly feel so much 
interest in them as one whose progenitors, male 
or female, have strewn their dust over the whole 
205 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 

field of which the history treats. This history 
is a fine specimen of the kind.” 

The work to which ReddyIfe's attention was 
thus drawn was in two large folio volumes, pub¬ 
lished about thirty years before, bound in calf 
by some famous artist in that line, illustrated 
with portraits and views of ruined castles, 
churches, cathedrals, the seats of nobility and 
gentry; Roman, British, and Saxon remains, 
painted windows, oak carvings, and so forth. 
And as for its contents, the author ascended for 
the history of the county as far as into the pre- 
Roman ages, before Caesar had ever heard of 
Britain ; and brought it down, an ever swelling 
and increasing tale, to his own days; inclu¬ 
sive of the separate histories, and pedigrees, 
and hereditary legends, and incidents, of all the 
principal families. In this latter branch of in¬ 
formation, indeed, the work seemed particu¬ 
larly full, and contained every incident that 
would have \yorked well into historical ro¬ 
mance. 

“ Aye, aye,” said the Warden, laughing at 
some strange incident of this sort which Red- 
clyffe read out to him. “ My old friend Gibber, 
the learned author of this work (he has been 
dead this score of years, so he will not mind my 
saying it), had a little too much the habit of 
seeking his authorities in the cottage chimney 
corners. I mean that an old woman’s tale was 
206 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


just about as acceptable to him as a recorded 
fact; and to say the truth, they are really apt to 
have ten times the life in them.’’ 

RedclyfFe saw in the volume a full account of 
the founding of the Hospital, its regulations and 
purposes, its edifices ; all of which he reserved 
for future reading, being for the present more 
attracted by the mouldy gossip of family anec¬ 
dotes which we have alluded to. Some of these, 
and not the least singular, referred to the an¬ 
cient family which had founded the Hospital; 
and he was attracted by seeing a mention of a 
Bloody Footstep, which reminded him of the 
strange old story which good Doctor Grimshawe 
had related by his New England fireside, in 
those childish days when Edward dwelt with 
him by the graveyard. On reading it, however, 
he found that the English legend, if such it 
could be called, was far less full and explicit 
than that of New England. Indeed, it assigned 
various origins to the Bloody Footstep; — one 
being, that it was the stamp of the foot of the 
Saxon thane, who fought at his own threshold 
against the assault of the Norman baron, who 
seized his mansion at the Conquest; another, 
that it was the imprint of a fugitive who had 
sought shelter from the lady of the house dur¬ 
ing the Wars of the Roses, and was dragged out 
by her husband, and slain on the doorstep; 
still another, that it was the footstep of a Protes- 
207 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


tant in Bloody Mary's days, who, being sent to 
prison by the squire of that epoch, had lifted 
his hands to Heaven, and stamped his foot, in 
appeal as against the unjust violence with which 
he was treated, and stamping his foot, it had 
left the bloody mark. It was hinted too, how¬ 
ever, that another version, which out of delicacy 
to the family the author was reluctant to state, 
assigned the origin of the Bloody Footstep to 
so late a period as the wars of the Parliament. 
And, finally, there was an odious rumor that 
what was called the Bloody Footstep was no¬ 
thing miraculous, after all, but most probably a 
natural reddish stain in the stone doorstep ; but 
against this heresy the excellent Doctor Gibber 
set his face most sturdily. 

The original legend had made such an im¬ 
pression on Redclylfe’s childish fancy, that he 
became strangely interested in thus discovering 
it, or something remotely like it, in England, 
and being brought by such unsought means to 
reside so near it. Curious about the family to 
which it had occurred, he proceeded to examine 
its records, as given in the County History. 
The name was Redclyffe. Like most English 
pedigrees, there was an obscurity about a good 
many of the earlier links ; but the line was traced 
out with reasonable definiteness from the days 
of Coeur de Lion, and there was said to be a 
cross-legged ancestor in the village church, who 
208 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


(but the inscription was obliterated) was prob¬ 
ably a RedclyfFe, and had fought either under 
the Lion Heart or in the Crusades. It was, in 
subsequent ages, one of the most distinguished 
families, though there had been turbulent men 
in all those turbulent times, hard fighters. In 
one age, a barony of early creation seemed to 
have come into the family, and had been, as it 
were, playing bo-peep with the race for several 
centuries. Some of them had actually assumed 
the title ; others had given it up for lack of 
sufficient proof; but still there was such a claim, 
and up to the time at which this County His¬ 
tory was written, it had neither been made out, 
nor had the hope of doing so been relinquished. 

“ Have the family,*’ asked Reddyffe of his 
host, ‘‘ ever yet made out their claim to this 
title, which has so long been playing the will- 
of-the-wisp with them ? ” 

‘‘ No, not yet,” said the Warden, puffing 
out a volume of smoke from his meerschaum, 
and making it curl up to the ceiling. “ Their 
claim has as little substance, in my belief, as 
yonder vanishing vapor from my pipe. But 
they still keep up their delusion. I had sup¬ 
posed that the claim would perish with the last 
squire, who was a childless man, — at least, 
without legitimate heirs ; but this estate passed 
to one whom we can scarcely call an English¬ 
man, he being a Catholic, the descendant of 
209 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

forefathers who have lived in Italy since the 
time of George the Second, and who is, more¬ 
over, a Catholic. We English would not will¬ 
ingly see an ancestral honor in the possession 
of such a man ! 

“ Is there, do you think, a prospect of his 
success ? ” 

‘‘ I have heard so, but hardly believe it,” re¬ 
plied the Warden. “ I remember, some dozen 
or fifteen years ago, it was given out that some 
clue had been found to the only piece of evi¬ 
dence that was wanting. It had been said that 
there was an emigration to your own country, 
above a hundred years ago, and on account of 
some family feud the true heir had gone thither 
and never returned. Now, the point was to 
prove the extinction of this branch of the family. 
But, excuse me, I must pay an official visit to 
my charge here. Will you accompany me, or 
continue to pore over the County History ? ” 

Redclyffe felt enough of the elasticity of con¬ 
valescence to be desirous of accompanying the 
Warden; and they accordingly crossed the en¬ 
closed quadrangle to the entrance of the Hos¬ 
pital portion of the large and intricate structure. 
It was a building of the early Elizabethan age, 
a plaster and timber structure, like many houses 
of that period and much earlier.^ Around this 
court stood the building, with the date 1437 
cut on the front. On each side, a row of ga- 
210 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


bles looked upon the enclosed space, most ven¬ 
erable old gables, with heavy mullioned win¬ 
dows filled with little diamond panes of glass, 
and opening on lattices. On two sides there 
was a cloistered walk, under echoing arches, and 
in the midst a spacious lawn of the greenest 
and loveliest grass, such as England only can 
show, and which, there, is of perennial verdure 
and beauty. In the midst stood a stone statue 
of a venerable man, wrought in the best of me¬ 
diaeval sculpture, with robe and ruff, and tunic 
and venerable beard, resting on a staff, and 
holding what looked like a clasped book in his 
hand. The English atmosphere, together with 
the coal smoke, settling down in the space of 
centuries from the chimneys of the Hospital, 
had roughened and blackened this venerable 
piece of sculpture, enclosing it as it were in a 
superficies of decay; but still (and perhaps the 
more from these tokens of having stood so long 
among men) the statue had an aspect of vener¬ 
able life, and of connection with human life, 
that made it strongly impressive. 

This is the effigy of Sir Edward Reddyffe, 
the founder of the Hospital,’' said the Warden. 
“ He is a most peaceful and venerable old gen¬ 
tleman in his attire and aspect, as you see; but 
he was a fierce old fellow in his day, and is 
said to have founded the Hospital as a means 
of appeasing Heaven for some particular deed 
2II 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


of blood, which he had imposed upon his con¬ 
science in the War of the Roses/* 

‘‘ Yes,** said Redclylfe, I have just read in 
the County History that the Bloody Footstep 
was said to have been imprinted in his time. 
But what is that thing which he holds in his 
hand? ** 

‘Ht is a famous heirloom of the Redclyffes,** 
said the Warden, “ on the possession of which 
(as long as they did possess it) they prided 
themselves, it is said, more than on their an¬ 
cient manor house. It was a Saxon ornament, 
which a certain ancestor was said to have had 
from Harold, the old Saxon king; but if there 
ever was any such article, it has been missing 
from the family mansion for two or three hun¬ 
dred years. There is not known to be an an¬ 
tique relic of that description now in existence.** 
“I remember having seen such an article,— 
yes, precisely of that shape,** — observed Red- 
clyffe, “ in the possession of a very dear old 
friend of mine, when I was a boy.** 

‘‘ What, in America ? ** exclaimed the War¬ 
den. That is very remarkable. The time 
of its being missed coincides well enough with 
that of the early settlement of New England. 
Some Puritan, before his departure, may have 
thought himself doing God service by filching 
the old golden gewgaw from the Cavalier; for 
it was said to be fine, ductile gold.** 

212 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


The circumstances struck Redclyffe with a 
pleasant wonder; for, indeed, the old statue 
held the closest possible imitation, in marble, 
of that strange old glitter of gold which he him¬ 
self had so often played with in the Doctor’s 
study ; ^ so identical, that he could have fancied 
that he saw the very thing, changed from metal 
into stone, even with its bruises and other cas¬ 
ual marks in it. As he looked at the old statue, 
his imagination played with it, and his naturally 
great impressibility half made him imaging that 
the old face looked at him with a keen, subtile, 
wary glance, as if acknowledging that it held 
some secret, but at the same time defying him 
to find it out. And then again came that vi¬ 
sionary feeling that had so often swept over 
him since he had been an inmate of the Hos¬ 
pital. 

All over the interior part of the building was 
carved in stone the leopard’s head, with weari¬ 
some iteration ; as if the founder were anxious 
to imprint his device so numerously, lest — 
when he produced this edifice as his remunera¬ 
tion to Eternal Justice for many sins — the Om¬ 
niscient Eye should fail to be reminded that Sir 
Edward Redclyffe had done it. But, at all 
events, it seemed to Redclyffe that the ancient 
knight had purposed a good thing, and in a 
measurable degree had effected it; for here 
stood the venerable edifice securely founded, 
213 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


bearing the moss of four hundred years upon 
it; and though wars, and change of dynasties, 
and religious change, had swept around it, with 
seemingly destructive potency, yet here had the 
lodging, the food, the monastic privileges of the 
brethren been held secure, and were unchanged 
by all the altering manners of the age. The old 
fellow, somehow or other, seemed to have struck 
upon an everlasting rock, and founded his pom¬ 
pous charity there. 

They entered an arched door on the left of 
the quadrangle, and found themselves in a dark 
old hall with oaken beams; to say the truth, it 
was a barnlike sort of enclosure, and was now 
used as a sort of rubbish place for the Hospi¬ 
tal, where they stored away old furniture, and 
where carpenter’s work migbit be done. And 
yet, as the Warden assured Reddyffe, it was 
once a hall of state, hung with tapestry, car¬ 
peted, for aught he knew, with cloth of gold, 
and set with rich furniture, and a groaning board 
in the midst. Here, the hereditary patron of 
the Hospital had once entertained King James 
the First, who made a Latin speech on the oc¬ 
casion, a copy of which was still preserved in the 
archives. On the rafters of this old hall there 
were cobwebs in such abundance that Red¬ 
dy ffe could not but reflect on the joy which old 
Doctor Grimshawe would have had in seeing 
them, and the health to the human race which 
214 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


he would have hoped to collect and distil from 
them. 

Frbm this great, antique room they crossed 
the quadrangle and entered the kitchen of the 
establishment. A hospitable fire was burning 
there, and there seemed to be a great variety of 
messes cooking; and the Warden explained to 
Redclyffe that there was no general table in the 
Hospital; but the brethren, at their own will 
and pleasure, either formed themselves into com¬ 
panies or messes, of any convenient size, or en¬ 
joyed a solitary meal by themselves, each in their 
own apartments. There was a goodly choice of 
simple but good and enjoyable food, and a suf¬ 
ficient supply of potent ale, brewed in the vats 
of the Hospital, which, among its other praise¬ 
worthy characteristics, was famous for this ; hav¬ 
ing at some epoch presumed to vie with the 
famous ale of Trinity, in Cambridge, and the 
Archdeacon of Oxford, — these having come 
down to the Hospital from a private receipt of 
Sir Edward’s butler, which was now lost in the 
Redclyffe family; nor would the ungrateful 
Hospital give up its secret even out of loyalty 
to its founder. 

I would use my influence with the brewer,” 
said the Warden, on communicating this little 
fact to Redclyffe ; “ but the present man — 
now owner of the estate — is not worthy to have 
good ale brewed in his house; having himself 
215 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


no taste for anything but Italian wines, wretched 
fellow that he is ! He might make himself an 
Englishman if he would take heartily to our 
ale; and with that end in view, I should be glad 
to give it him/' 

The kitchen fire blazed warmly, as we have 
said, and roast and stewed and boiled were in 
process of cooking, producing a pleasant fume, 
while great heaps of wheaten loaves were smok¬ 
ing hot from the ovens, and the master cook 
and his subordinates were in fume and hiss, like 
beings that were of a fiery element, and, though 
irritable and scorching, yet were happier here 
than they could have been in any other situa¬ 
tion. The Warden seemed to have an especial 
interest and delight in this department of the 
Hospital, and spoke apart to the head cook on 
the subject (as RedclyfFe surmised from what he 
overheard) of some especial delicacy for his own 
table that day. 

“ This kitchen is a genial place," said he to 
Reddyffe, as they retired. “In the evening, 
after the cooks have done their work, the breth¬ 
ren have liberty to use it as a sort of common 
room, and to sit here over their ale till a reason¬ 
able bedtime. It would interest you much to 
make one at such a party ; for they have had a 
varied experience in life, each one for himself, 
and it would be strange to hear the varied roads 
by which they have come hither." 

216 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


“Yes/* replied ReddyfFe, “and, I presume, 
not one of them ever dreamed of coming hither 
when he started in life. The only one with 
whom I am acquainted could hardly have ex¬ 
pected it, at all events.** 

“He is a remarkable man, more so than you 
may have had an opportunity of knowing,** said 
the Warden. “ I know not his history, for he 
is not communicative on that subject, and it was 
only necessary for him to make out his proofs 
of claim to the charity to the satisfaction of the 
Curators. But it has often struck me that there 
must have been strange and striking events in 
his life, — though how it could have been with¬ 
out his attracting attention and being known, I 
cannot say. I have myself often received good 
counsel from him in the conduct of the Hospi¬ 
tal, and the present owner of the Hall seems to 
have taken him for his counsellor and confidant, 
being himself strange to English affairs and life.** 
“ I should like to call on him, as a matter 
of course rather than courtesy,** observed Red- 
clyffe, “ and thank him for his great kindness.** 
They accordingly ascended the dark oaken 
staircase with its black balustrade, and ap¬ 
proached the old man*s chamber, the door of 
which they found open, and in the blurred look- 
ing-glass which hung deep within the room 
Redclyffe was surprised to perceive the young 
face of a woman, who seemed to be arranging 
217 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


her headgear, as women are always doing. It 
was but a moment, and then it vanished like a 
vision. 

“ I was not aware,** he said, turning to the 
Warden, “ that there was a feminine side to this 
establishment.** 

Nor is there,** said the old bachelor, ‘‘ else 
it would not have held together so many ages 
as it has. The establishment has its own wise, 
monkish regulations ; but we cannot prevent 
the fact, that some of the brethren may have 
had foolish relations with the other sex at some 
previous period of their lives. This seems to 
be the case with our wise old friend of whom 
we have been speaking, — whereby he doubtless 
became both wiser and sadder. If you have 
seen a female face here, it is that of a relative 
who resides out of the Hospital, — an excellent 
young lady, I believe, who has charge of a 
school.** 

While he was speaking, the young lady in 
question passed out, greeting the Warden in a 
cheerful, respectful way, in which deference to 
him was well combined with a sense of what 
was due to herself. 

“That,** observed the Warden, who had re¬ 
turned her courtesy, with a kindly air betwixt 
that of gentlemanly courtesy and a superior*s 
acknowledgment, — “ that is the relative of our 
old friend; a young person — a gentlewoman, 
218 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 

I may almost call her — who teaches a little 
school in the village here, and keeps her guard¬ 
ian’s heart warm, no doubt, with her presence. 
An excellent young woman, I do believe, and 
very useful and faithful in her station.” 

219 


CHAPTER XVI 


N entering the old palmer’s apartment, 



they found him looking over some 


ancient papers, yellow and crabbedly 


written, and on one of them a large old seal, 
all of which he did up in a bundle and enclosed 
in a parchment cover, so that, before they were 
well in the room, the documents were removed 
from view. 

‘‘Those papers and parchments have a fine 
old yellow tint, Colcord,” said the Warden, 
“ very satisfactory to an antiquary.” 

“ There is nothing in them,” said the old 
man, “ of general interest. Some old papers 
they are, which came into my possession by in¬ 
heritance, and some of them relating to the af¬ 
fairs of a friend of my youth ; — a long past 
time, and a long past friend,” added he, sighing. 

“ Here is a new friend, at all events,” said 
the kindly Warden, wishing to cheer the old 
man, “who feels himself greatly indebted to 
you for your care.” ^ 

There now ensued a conversation between 
the three, in the course of which reference was 
made to America, and the Warden’s visit there. 


220 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


^‘You are so mobile,” he said, ‘‘you change 
so speedily, that I suppose there are few exter¬ 
nal things now that I should recognize. The 
face of your country changes like one of your 
own sheets of water, under the influence of sun, 
cloud, and wind; but I suppose there is a depth 
below that is seldom effectually stirred. It is a 
great fault of the country that its sons find it 
impossible to feel any patriotism for it.” 

“I do not by any means acknowledge that im¬ 
possibility,” responded Redclyffe, with a smile. 
“ I certainly feel that sentiment very strongly 
in my own breast, more especially since I have 
left America three thousand miles behind me.” 

“ Yes, it is only the feeling of self-assertion 
that rises against the self-complacency of the 
English,” said the Warden. “ Nothing else; 
for what else have you become the subject of 
this noble weakness of patriotism? You cannot 
love anything beyond the soil of your own es¬ 
tate ; or in your case, if your heart is very large, 
you may possibly take in, in a quiet sort of 
way, the whole of New England. What more 
is possible ? How can you feel a heart’s love for 
a mere political arrangement, like your Union ? 
How can you be loyal, where personal attach¬ 
ment— the lofty and noble and unselfish at¬ 
tachment of a subject to his prince — is out of 
the question ? where your sovereign is felt to 
be a mere man like yourselves, whose petty 
221 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


struggles, whose ambition, — mean before it 
grew to be audacious, — you have watched, and 
know him to be just the same now as yester¬ 
day, and that to-morrow he will be walking un¬ 
honored amongst you again? Your system is 
too bare and meagre for human nature to love, 
or to endure it long. These stately degrees of 
society, that have so strong a hold upon us in 
England, are not to be done away with so 
lightly as you think. Your experiment is not 
yet a success by any means ; and you will live 
to see it result otherwise than you think! ” 

‘‘It is natural for you Englishmen to feel 
thus,” said Redclyffe; “ although, ever since I 
set my foot on your shores, — forgive me, but 
you set me the example of free speech, — I have 
had a feeling of coming change among all that 
you look upon as so permanent, so everlast¬ 
ing ; and though your thoughts dwell fondly 
on things as they are and have been, there is 
a deep destruction somewhere in this country, 
that is inevitably impelling it in the path of my 
own. But I care not for this. I do aver that 
I love my country, that I am proud of its insti¬ 
tutions, that I have a feeling unknown, proba¬ 
bly, to any but a republican, but which is the 
proudest thing in me, that there is no man above 
me, — for my ruler is only myself, in the person 
of another, whose office I impose upon him,— 
nor any below me. If you would understand 
222 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


me, I would tell you of the shame I felt when 
first, on setting foot in this country, I heard a 
man speaking of his birth as giving him privi¬ 
leges ; saw him looking down on laboring men, 
as of an inferior race. And what I can never 
understand is the pride which you positively 
seem to feel in having men and classes of men 
above you, born to privileges which you can 
never hope to share. It may be a thing to be 
endured, but surely not one to be absolutely 
proud of. And yet an Englishman is so.” 

“ Ah ! I see we lack a ground to meet upon,” 
said the Warden. “We can never truly under¬ 
stand each other. What you have last men¬ 
tioned is one of our inner mysteries. It is not 
a thing to be reasoned about, but to be felt,— 
to be born within one; and I uphold it to be 
a generous sentiment, and good for the human 
heart.” 

“Forgive me, sir,” said Redclyffe, “but I 
would rather be the poorest and lowest man in 
America than have that sentiment.” 

“ But it might change your feeling, perhaps,” 
suggested the Warden, “ if you were one of the 
privileged class.” 

“ I dare not say that it would not,” said Red¬ 
clyffe, “ for I know I have a thousand weak¬ 
nesses, and have doubtless as many more that 
I never suspected myself of. But it seems to 
me at this moment impossible that I should ever 
223 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


have such an ambition, because I have a sense 
of meanness in not starting fair, in beginning 
the world with advantages that my fellows have 
not.” 

Really this is not wise,” said the Warden 
bluntly. “ How can the start in life be fair for 
all ? Providence arranges it otherwise. Did 
you yourself, — a gentleman evidently by birth 
and education, — did you start fair in the race 
of life ? ” 

Redclyffe remembered what his birth, or 
rather what his first recollected place had been, 
and reddened. 

‘‘In birth, certainly, I had no advantages,” 
said he, and would have explained further, but 
was kept back by invincible reluctance ; feeling 
that the bare fact of his origin in an almshouse 
would be accepted, while all the inward assur¬ 
ances and imaginations that had reconciled him¬ 
self to the ugly fact would go for nothing. “ But 
there were advantages, very early in life,” added 
he, smiling, “which perhaps I ought to have 
been ashamed to avail myself of.” 

“ An old cobwebby library, — an old dwell¬ 
ing by a graveyard, — an old Doctor, busied 
with his own fantasies, and entangled in his own 
cobwebs, — and a little girl for a playmate: 
these were things that you might lawfully avail 
yourself of,” said Colcord, unheard by the War¬ 
den, who, thinking the conversation had lasted 
224 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

long enough, had paid a slight passing courtesy 
to the old man, and was now leaving the room. 
“ Do you remain here long ? ” he added. 

‘‘ If the Warden’s hospitality holds out,” said 
the American, ‘‘ I shall be glad; for the place 
interests me greatly.” 

“No wonder,” replied Colcord. 

“ And wherefore no wonder ? ” said Red- 
clyffe, impressed with the idea that there was 
something peculiar in the tone of the old man’s 
remark. 

“ Because,” returned the other quietly, “ it 
must be to you especially interesting to see an 
institution of this kind, whereby one man’s be¬ 
nevolence or penitence is made to take the sub¬ 
stance and durability of stone, and last for cen¬ 
turies ; whereas, in America, the solemn decrees 
and resolutions of millions melt away like 
vapor, and everything shifts like the pomp of 
sunset clouds ; though it may be as pompous as 
they. Heaven intended the past as a founda¬ 
tion for the present, to keep it from vibrating 
and being blown away with every breeze.” 

“ But,” said RedclylFe, “ I would not see in 
my country what I see elsewhere, — the Past 
hanging like a millstone round a country’s 
neck, or incrusted in stony layers over the liv¬ 
ing form ; so that, to all intents and purposes, 
it is dead.” 

“Well,” said Colcord, “we are only talking 
225 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


of the Hospital. You will find no more inter¬ 
esting place anywhere. Stay amongst us ; this 
is the very heart of England, and if you wish to 
know the fatherland, — the place whence you 
sprung,— this is the very spot! ” 

Again Redclyffe was struck with the impres¬ 
sion that there was something marked, some¬ 
thing individually addressed to himself, in the 
old man’s words ; at any rate, it appealed to 
that primal imaginative vein in him which had 
so often, in his own country, allowed itself to 
dream over the possibilities of his birth. He 
knew that the feeling was a vague and idle one ; 
but yet, just at this time, a convalescent, with a 
little play moment in what had heretofore been 
a turbulent life, he felt an inclination to follow 
out this dream, and let it sport with him, and 
by and by to awake to realities, refreshed by a 
season of unreality. At a firmer and stronger 
period of his life, though Redclyffe might have 
indulged his imagination with these dreams, yet 
he would not have let them interfere with his 
course of action ; but having come hither in ut¬ 
ter weariness of active life, it seemed just the 
thing for him to do, —just the fool’s paradise 
for him to be in. 

Yes,” repeated the old man, looking keenly 
in his face, “you will not leave us yet.” 

Redclyffe returned through the quadrangle 
to the Warden’s house; and there were the 
226 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

brethren, sitting on benches, loitering in the 
sun, which, though warm for England, seemed 
scarcely enough to keep these old people warm, 
even with their cloth robes. They did not seem 
unhappy; nor yet happy ; if they were so, it 
must be with the mere bliss of existence, a sleepy 
sense of comfort, and quiet dreaminess about 
things past, leaving out the things to come, — of 
which there was nothing, indeed, in their future, 
save one day after another, just like this, with 
loaf and ale, and such substantial comforts, and 
prayers, and idle days again, gathering by the 
great kitchen fire, and at last a day when they 
should not be there, but some other old men in 
their stead. And Redclyffe wondered whether, 
in the extremity of age, he himself would like 
to be one of the brethren of the Leopardis Head. 
The old men, he was sorry to see, did not seem 
very genial towards one another; in fact, there 
appeared to be a secret enjoyment of one an¬ 
other’s infirmities, wherefore it was hard to tell, 
unless that each individual might fancy himself 
to possess an advantage over his fellow, which 
he mistook for a positive strength ; and so there 
was sometimes a sardonic smile, when, on rising 
from his seat, the rheumatism was a little evident 
in an old fellow’s joints; or when the palsy 
shook another’s fingers so that he could barely 
fill his pipe; or when a cough, the gathered 
spasmodic trouble of thirty years, fairly con- 
227 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


vulsed another. Then, any two that happened 
to be sitting near one another looked into each 
other’s cold eyes, and whispered, or suggested 
merely by a look (for they were bright to such 
perceptions), The old fellow will not out¬ 
last another winter.” 

Methinks it is not good for old men to be 
much together. An old man is a beautiful ob¬ 
ject in his own place, in the midst of a circle 
of young people, going down in various gra¬ 
dations to infancy, and all looking up to the 
patriarch with filial reverence, keeping him warm 
by their own burning youth; giving him the 
freshness of their thought and feeling, with such 
natural influx that it seems as if it grew within 
his heart; while on them he reacts with an in¬ 
fluence that sobers, tempers, keeps them down. 
His wisdom, very probably, is of no great ac¬ 
count, — he cannot fit to any new state of things; 
but, nevertheless, it works its effect. In such a 
situation, the old man is kind and genial, mel¬ 
low, more gentle and generous and wider-minded 
than ever before. But if left to himself, or 
wholly to the society of his contemporaries, the 
ice gathers about his heart, his hope grows tor¬ 
pid, his love — having nothing of his own blood 
to develop it — grows cold; he becomes selfish, 
when he has nothing in the present or the future 
worth caring about in himself; so that, instead 
of a beautiful object, he is an ugly one, little, 
228 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


mean, and torpid. I suppose one chief reason 
to be, that unless he has his own race about 
him he doubts of anybody’s love, he feels him¬ 
self a stranger in the world, and so becomes 
unamiable. 

A very few days in the Warden’s hospitable 
mansion produced an excellent effect on Red- 
clyffe’s frame; his constitution being naturally 
excellent, and a flow of cheerful spirits contribut¬ 
ing much to restore him to health, especially as 
the abode in this old place, which would prob¬ 
ably have been intolerably dull to most young 
Englishmen, had for this young American a 
charm like the freshness of Paradise. In truth 
it had that charm, and besides it another intan¬ 
gible, evanescent, perplexing charm, full of an 
airy enjoyment, as if he had been here before. 
What could it be? It could be only the old, 
very deepest, inherent nature, which the Eng¬ 
lishman, his progenitor, carried over the sea with 
him, nearly two hundred years before, and which 
had lain buried all that time under heaps of new 
things, new customs, new institutions, new snows 
of winter, new layers of forest leaves, until it 
seemed dead, and was altogether forgotten as if 
it had never been; but, now, his return had 
seemed to dissolve or dig away all this incrusta¬ 
tion, and the old English nature awoke all fresh, 
so that he saw the green grass, the hedge rows, 
the old structures and old manners, the old 

22Q 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

clouds, the old raindrops, with a recognition, 
and yet a newness. Redclyffe had never been 
so quietly happy as now. He had, as it were, 
the quietude of the old man about him, and the 
freshness of his own still youthful years. 

The Warden was evidently very favorably 
impressed with his Transatlantic guest, and he 
seemed to be in a constant state of surprise to 
find an American so agreeable a kind of person. 

“ You are just like an Englishman,'* he some¬ 
times said. “ Are you quite sure that you were 
not born on this side of the water ? ” 

This is said to be the highest compliment 
that an Englishman can pay to an American; 
and doubtless he intends it as such. All the 
praise and good will that an Englishman ever 
awards to an American is so far gratifying to the 
recipient, that it is meant for him individually, 
and is not to be put down in the slightest de¬ 
gree to the score of any regard to his countrymen 
generally. So far from this, if an Englishman 
were to meet the whole thirty millions of Amer¬ 
icans, and find each individual of them a plea¬ 
sant, amiable, well-meaning, and well-mannered 
sort of fellow, he would acknowledge this hon¬ 
estly in each individual case, but still would speak 
of the whole nation as a disagreeable people. 

As regards Redclyffe being precisely like an 
Englishman, we cannot but think that the good 
Warden was mistaken. No doubt, there was a 
230 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

common ground; the old progenitor (whose 
blood, moreover, was mixed with a hundred 
other streams equally English) was still there, 
under this young man’s shape, but with a vast 
difference. Climate, sun, cold, heat, soil, insti¬ 
tutions, had made a change in him before he was 
born, and all the life that he had lived since (so 
unlike any that he could have lived in England) 
had developed it more strikingly. In manners, 
I cannot but think that he was better than the 
generality of Englishmen, and different from the 
highest-mannered men, though most resembling 
them. His natural sensitiveness, a tincture of 
reserve, had been counteracted by the frank 
mixture with men which his political course had 
made necessary; he was quicker to feel what 
was right at the moment, than the Englishman ; 
more alive ; he had a finer grain ; his look was 
more aristocratic than that of a thousand Eng¬ 
lishmen of good birth and breeding; he had a 
faculty of assimilating himself to new manners, 
which, being his most un-English trait, was what 
perhaps chiefly made the Warden think him so 
like an Englishman. When an Englishman is a 
gentleman, to be sure, it is as deep in him as the 
marrow of his bones, and the deeper you know 
him, the more you are aware of it, and that 
generation after generation has contributed to 
develop and perfect these unpretending man¬ 
ners, which, at first, may have failed to impress 
231 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


you, under his plain, almost homely exterior. 
An American often gets as good a surface of man¬ 
ners, in his own progress from youth, through 
the wear and attrition of a successful life, to some 
high station in middle age; whereas a plebeian 
Englishman, who rises to eminent station, never 
does credit to it by his manners. Often you 
would not know the American ambassador from 
a duke. This is often merely external; but in 
Redclyffe, having delicate original traits in his 
character, it was something more; and we are 
bold to say, when our countrymen are developed, 
or any one class of them, as they ought to be, 
they will show finer traits than have yet been 
seen. We have more delicate and quicker sen¬ 
sibilities, nerves more easily impressed ; and 
these are surely requisites for perfect manners; 
and, moreover, the courtesy that proceeds on the 
ground of perfect equality is better than that 
which is a gracious and benignant condescension, 
— as is the case with the manners of the aristo¬ 
cracy of England. 

An American, be it said, seldom turns his 
best side outermost abroad; and an observer, 
who has had much opportunity of seeing the 
figure which they make, in a foreign country, 
does not so much wonder that there should be 
severe criticism on their manners as a people. 
I know not exactly why, but all our imputed 
peculiarities — our nasal pronunciation, our un- 
232 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


graceful idioms, our forthputtingness, our un¬ 
couth lack of courtesy — do really seem to 
exist on a foreign shore; and even, perhaps, to 
be heightened of malice prepense. The cold, 
unbelieving eye of Englishmen, expectant of 
solecisms in manners, contributes to produce 
the result which it looks for. Then the feeling 
of hostility and defiance in the American must 
be allowed for; and partly, too, the real exist¬ 
ence of a different code of manners, founded 
on, and arising from, different institutions; and 
also certain national peculiarities, which may be 
intrinsically as good as English peculiarities ; 
but being different, and yet the whole result 
being just too nearly alike, and, moreover, the 
English manners having the prestige of long es¬ 
tablishment, and furthermore our own manners 
being in a transition state between those of old 
monarchies and what is proper to a new re¬ 
public, it necessarily follows that the American, 
though really a man of refinement and delicacy, 
is not just the kind of gentleman that the Eng¬ 
lish can fully appreciate. In cases where they 
do so, their standard being different from ours, 
they do not always select for their approbation 
the kind of man or manners whom we should 
judge the best; we are perhaps apt to be a lit¬ 
tle too fine, a little too sedulously polished, and 
of course too conscious of it, — a deadly social 
crime, certainly. 


233 


CHAPTER XVII 


T O return from this long discussion, the 
Warden took kindly, as we have said, 
to Redclyffe, and thought him a mi¬ 
raculously good fellow, to have come from the 
rude American republic. Hitherto, in the little 
time that he had been in England, Redclyffe 
had received civil and even kind treatment from 
the English with whom he had come casually 
in contact; but still — perhaps partly from our 
Yankee narrowness and reserve — he had felt, 
in the closest coming together, as if there were 
a naked sword between the Englishman and 
him, as between the Arabian prince in the tale 
and the princess whom he wedded ; he felt as 
if that would be the case even if he should love 
an Englishwoman; to such a distance, into 
such an attitude of self-defence, does English 
self-complacency and belief in England's superi¬ 
ority throw the stranger. In fact, in a good- 
natured way, John Bull is always doubling his 
fist in a stranger's face; and though it be good- 
natured, it does not always produce the most 
amiable feeling. 

The worthy Warden, being an Englishman, 
had doubtless the same kind of feeling; doubt- 

234 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


less, too, he thought ours a poor, distracted 
country, perhaps prosperous for the moment, 
but as likely as not to be the scene of anarchy 
five minutes hence; but being of so genial a 
nature, when he came to see the amiableness of 
his young guest, and how deeply he was im¬ 
pressed with England, all prejudice died away, 
and he loved him like a treasure that he had 
found for himself, and valued him as if there 
were something of his own in him. And so 
the old Warden’s residence had never before 
been so cheery as it was now ; his bachelor life 
passed the more pleasantly with this quiet, viva¬ 
cious, yet not troublesomely restless spirit be¬ 
side him, — this eager, almost childish interest 
in everything English, and yet this capacity to 
take independent views of things, and some¬ 
times, it might be, to throw a gleam of light 
even on things appertaining to England. And 
so, the better they came to know one another, 
the greater was their mutual liking. 

“ I fear I am getting too strong to burden 
you much longer,” said Redclyffe, this morn¬ 
ing. I have no pretence to be a patient 
now.” 

“ Pooh ! nonsense ! ” ejaculated the Warden. 
“It will not be safe to leave you to yourself 
for at least a month to come. And I have 
half a dozen excursions in a neighborhood of 
twenty miles, in which I mean to show you 

235 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


what old England is, in a way that you would 
never find out for yourself Do not speak of 
going. This day, if you find yourself strong 
enough, you shall go and look at an old village 
church.” 

“ With all my heart,” said Redclyffe. 

They went, accordingly, walking slowly, 
in consequence of Redclyffe’s yet imperfect 
strength, along the highroad, which was over¬ 
shadowed with elms, that grew in beautiful shape 
and luxuriance in that part of England, not with 
the slender, drooping, picturesque grace of a 
New England elm, but more luxuriant, fuller 
of leaves, sturdier in limb. It was a day which 
the Warden called fine, and which Redclyffe, at 
home, would have thought to bode rain ; though 
here he had learned that such weather might 
continue for weeks together, with only a few 
raindrops all the time. The road was in the 
finest condition, hard and dry. 

They had not long emerged from the gate¬ 
way of the Hospital, — at the venerable front 
and gables of which Redclyffe turned to look 
with a feeling as if it were his home, — when 
they heard the clatter of hoofs behind them, 
and a gentleman on horseback rode by, paying 
a courteous salute to the Warden as he passed. 
A groom in livery followed at a little distance, 
and both rode roundly towards the village, 
whither the Warden and his friend were going. 

236 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


“ Did you observe that man ? ” asked the 
Warden. 

“ Yes,” said RedclyfFe. “ Is he an English¬ 
man ? ” 

“ That is a pertinent question,” replied the 
Warden, but I scarcely know how to answer 
it.” 

In truth, RedclyfFe’s question had been sug¬ 
gested by the appearance of the mounted gen¬ 
tleman, who was a dark, thin man, with black 
hair, and a black moustache and pointed beard 
setting ofF his sallow face, in which the eyes 
had a certain pointed steeliness, which did not 
look English, — whose eyes, methinks, are 
usually not so hard as those of Americans or 
foreigners. RedclyfFe, somehow or other, had 
fancied that these not very pleasant eyes had 
been fixed in a marked way on himself, a 
stranger, while at the same time his salute was 
evidently directed towards the Warden. 

“ An Englishman ? — why, no,” continued 
the latter. ‘‘If you observe, he does not even sit 
his horse like an Englishman, but in that ab¬ 
surd, stiff Continental way, as if a poker should 
get on horseback. Neither has he an English 
face, English manners, nor English religion, 
nor an English heart; nor, to sum up the whole, 
had he English birth. Nevertheless, as fate 
would have it, he is the inheritor of a good old 
English name, a fine patrimonial estate, and a 
237 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


very probable claim to an old English title. 
This is Lord Braithwaite of Braithwaite Hall, 
who if he can make his case good (and they say 
there is good prospect of it) will soon be Lord 
Hinchbrooke.” 

“ I hardly know why, but I should be sorry 
for it,” said Redclyffe. “He certainly is not 
English ; and I have an odd sort of sympathy, 
which makes me unwilling that English honors 
should be enjoyed by foreigners. This, then, 
is the gentleman of Italian birth whom you 
have mentioned to me, and of whom there is a 
slight mention in the County History.” 

“ Yes,” said the Warden. “ There have been 
three descents of this man’s branch in Italy, and 
only one English mother in all that time. Posi¬ 
tively, I do not see an English trait in his face, 
and as little in his manner. His civility is 
Italian, such as oftentimes, among his country¬ 
men, has offered a cup of poison to a guest, or 
insinuated the stab of a stiletto into his heart.” 

“You are particularly bitter against this poor 
man,” said Redclyffe, laughing at the Warden’s 
vehemence. “ His appearance — and yet he is 
a handsome man — is certainly not prepossess¬ 
ing ; but unless it be countersigned by some¬ 
thing in his actual life, I should hardly think it 
worth while to condemn him utterly.” 

“Well, well; you can forgive a little Eng¬ 
lish prejudice,” said the Warden, a little ashamed. 

238 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


“ But, in good earnest, the man has few or no 
good traits, takes no interest in the country, 
dislikes our sky, our earth, our people, is close 
and inhospitable, a hard landlord, and whatever 
may be his good qualities, they are not such as 
flourish in this soil and climate, or can be ap¬ 
preciated here.” ^ 

‘‘ Has he children ? ” asked Redclyffe. 

They say so, — a family by an Italian wife, 
whom some, on the other hand, pronounce to 
be no wife at all. His son is at a Catholic 
college in France ; his daughter in a convent 
there.” 

In talk like this they were drawing near the 
little rustic village of Braithwaite, and saw, 
above a cloud of foliage, the small, low, battle- 
mented tower, the gray stones of which had 
probably been laid a little after the Norman 
conquest. Approaching nearer, they passed a 
thatched cottage or two, very plain and simple 
edifices, though interesting to RedclyflFe from 
their antique aspect, which denoted that they 
were probably older than the settlement of his 
own country, and might very likely have nursed 
children who had gone, more than two centu¬ 
ries ago, to found the commonwealth of which 
he was a citizen. If you considered them in 
one way, prosaically, they were ugly enough; 
but then there were the old latticed windows, 
and there the thatch, which was verdant with 

239 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

leek> and strange weeds, possessing a whole bo¬ 
tanical growth. And birds flew in and out, as 
if they had their homes there. Then came a 
row of similar cottages, all joined on together, 
and each with a little garden before it divided 
from its neighbors by a hedge, now in full ver¬ 
dure. Redclyffe was glad to see some symp¬ 
toms of natural love of beauty here, for there 
were plants of box, cut into queer shapes of 
birds, peacocks, etc., as if year after year had 
been spent in bringing these vegetable sculp¬ 
tures to perfection. In one of the gardens, 
moreover, the ingenious inhabitant had spent 
his leisure in building grotto work, of which the 
English are rather ludicrously fond, on their 
little bits of lawn, and in building a miniature 
castle of oyster shells, where were seen turrets, 
ramparts, a frowning arched gateway, and minia¬ 
ture cannon looking from the embrasures. A 
pleasanter and better adornment were the homely 
household flowers, and a pleasant sound, too, 
was the hum of bees, who had their home in 
several beehives, and were making their honey 
among the flowers of the garden, or come from 
afar, buzzing dreamily through the air, laden 
with honey that they had found elsewhere. Fruit 
trees stood erect, or, in some instances, were 
flattened out against the walls of cottages, look¬ 
ing somewhat like hawks nailed in terrorem 
against a barn door. The male members of 
240 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


this little community were probably afield, with 
the exception of one or two half-torpid great- 
grandsires, who [were] moving rheumatically 
about the gardens, and some children not yet 
in breeches, who stared with stolid eyes at the 
passers-by ; but the good dames were busy 
within doors, where Redclyffe had glimpses of 
their interior with its pavement of stone flags. 
Altogether it seemed a comfortable settlement 
enough. 

“ Do you see that child yonder,” observed 
the Warden, “ creeping away from the door, and 
displaying a vista of his petticoats as he does 
so ? That sturdy boy is the lineal heir of one 
of the oldest families in this part of England, 
— though now decayed and fallen, as you may 
judge. So, you see, with all our contrivances to 
keep up an aristocracy, there still is change for¬ 
ever going on.” 

“ There is something not agreeable, and some¬ 
thing otherwise, in the thought,” replied Red¬ 
clyffe. ‘‘ What is the name of the old family, 
whose representative is in such a case ? ” 

Moseby,” said the Warden. “ Their family 
residence stood within three miles of Braithwaite 
Hall, but was taken down in the last century, 
and its place supplied by a grand show place, 
built by a Birmingham manufacturer, who also 
originated here.” 

They kept onward from this outskirt of the 
241 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 


village, and soon, passing over a little rising 
ground and descending now into a hollow, 
came to the new portion of it, clustered around 
its gray Norman church, one side of the tower 
of which was covered with ivy, that was care¬ 
fully kept, the Warden said, from climbing to 
the battlements, on account of some old pro¬ 
phecy that foretold that the tower would fall, if 
ever the ivy mantled over its top. Certainly, 
however, there seemed little likelihood that the 
square, low mass would fall, unless by external 
violence, in less than as many ages as it had 
already stood. 

Redclyffe looked at the old tower and little 
adjoining edifice with an interest that attached 
itself to every separate, moss-grown stone ; but 
the Warden, like most Englishmen, was at once 
amazed and wearied with the American's enthu¬ 
siasm for this spot, which to him was uninter¬ 
esting for the very reason that made it most 
interesting to Redclyffe, because it had stood 
there such a weary while. It was too common 
an object to excite in his mind, as it did in Red- 
clyffe's, visions of the long ago time when it was 
founded, when mass was first said there, and the 
glimmer of torches at the altar was seen through 
the vista of that broad-browed porch; and of all 
the procession of villagers that had since gone 
in and come out during nine hundred years, in 
their varying costume and fashion, but yet — 
242 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


and this was the strongest and most thrilling 
part of the idea — all, the very oldest of them, 
bearing a resemblance of feature, the kindred, 
the family likeness, to those who died yesterday, 
— to those who still went thither to worship ; 
and all the grassy and half-obliterated graves 
around had held those who bore the same 
traits. 

In front of the church was a little green, on 
which stood a very ancient yew-tree,^ all the 
heart of which seemed to have been eaten away 
by time, so that a man could now creep into the 
trunk, through a wide opening, and, looking 
upward, see another opening to the sky. 

‘‘That tree,’* observed the Warden, “is well 
worth the notice of such an enthusiastic lover of 
old things ; though I suppose aged trees may be 
the one antiquity that you do not value, having 
them by myriads in your primeval forests. But 
then the interest of this tree consists greatly in 
what your trees have not, — in its long connec¬ 
tion with men and the doings of men. Some 
of its companions were made into bows for 
Harold’s archers. This tree is of unreckonable 
antiquity; so old, that in a record of the time 
of Edward the Fourth it is styled the yew- 
tree of Braithwaite Green. That carries it 
back to Norman times, truly. It was in com¬ 
paratively modern times when it served as a 
gallows for one of James the Second’s blood- 

243 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


thirsty judges to hang his victims on after Mon¬ 
mouth’s rebellion.” 

On one side of this yew was a certain struc¬ 
ture which Redclyffe did not recognize as any¬ 
thing that he had before seen, but soon guessed 
its purpose ; though, from appearances, it 
seemed to have been very long since it had 
served that purpose. It was a ponderous old 
oaken framework, six or seven feet high, so con¬ 
trived that a heavy cross-piece shut down over 
another, leaving two round holes; in short, it 
was a pair of stocks, in which, I suppose, hun¬ 
dreds of vagrants and petty criminals had sat of 
old, but which now appeared to be merely a 
matter of curiosity. 

“ This excellent old machine,” said the War¬ 
den, ‘‘ had been lying in a rubbish chamber of 
the church tower for at least a century, when 
the clerk, who is a little of an antiquarian, un¬ 
earthed it, and I advised him to set it here, where 
it used to stand ; — not with any idea of its 
being used (though there is as much need of it 
now as ever), but that the present age may see 
what comforts it has lost.” 

They sat down a few moments on the circu¬ 
lar seat, and looked at the pretty scene of this 
quiet little village, clustered round the old 
church as a centre; a collection of houses, 
mostly thatched, though there were one or two, 
with rather more pretension, that had roofs of 
244 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


red tiles. Some of them were stone cottages, 
whitewashed, but the larger edifices had timber 
frames, filled in with brick and plaster, which 
seemed to have been renewed in patches, and to 
be a frailer and less durable material than the 
old oak of their skeletons. They were gabled, 
with lattice windows, and picturesquely set off 
with projecting stones, and many little patch- 
work additions, such as, in the course of gener¬ 
ations, the inhabitants had found themselves to 
need. There was not much commerce, appar¬ 
ently, in this little village, there seeming to be 
only one shop, with some gingerbread, penny 
whistles, ballads, and such matters, displayed in 
the window; and there, too, across the little 
green, opposite the church, was the village ale¬ 
house, with its bench under the low projecting 
eaves, with a Teniers scene of two wayfaring 
yeomen drinking a pot of beer and smoking 
their pipes. 

With Redclyffe’s Yankee feelings, there was 
something sad to think how the generations had 
succeeded one another, over and over, in innu¬ 
merable succession, in this little spot, being born 
here, living, dying, lying down among their 
fathers' dust, and forthwith getting up again, as 
it were, and recommencing the same meaning¬ 
less round, and really bringing nothing to pass ; 
for probably the generation of to-day, in so se¬ 
cluded and motionless a place as this, had few or 

245 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

no ideas in advance of their ancestors of five cen¬ 
turies ago. It seems not worth while that more 
than one generation of them should have existed. 
Even in dress, with their smock frocks and 
breeches, they were just like their fathers. The 
stirring blood of the new land, — where no man 
dwells in his father’s house, — where no man 
thinks of dying in his birthplace, — awoke 
within him, and revolted at the thought; and, 
as connected with it, revolted at all the heredi¬ 
tary pretensions which, since his stay here, had 
exercised such an influence over the fanciful 
part of his nature. In another mood, the vil¬ 
lage might have seemed a picture of rural peace, 
which it would have been worth while to give 
up ambition to enjoy; now, as his warmer im¬ 
pulse stirred, it was a weariness to think of. 
The new American was stronger in him than 
the hereditary Englishman. 

“ I should go mad of it! ” exclaimed he 
aloud. 

He started up impulsively, to the amazement 
of his companion, who of course could not com¬ 
prehend what seemed so to have stung his 
American friend. As they passed the tree, on 
the other side of its huge trunk, they saw a 
young woman, sitting on that side of it, and 
sketching, apparently, the church tower, with 
the old Elizabethan vicarage that stood near it, 
246 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


with a gate opening into the churchyard, and 
much embowered and ivy-hung. 

“ Ah, Miss Cheltenham,’’ said the Warden, 
‘‘ I am glad to see that you have taken the old 
church in hand, for it is one of the prettiest 
rustic churches in England, and as well worthy 
as any to be engraved on a sheet of note paper 
or put into a portfolio. Will you let my friend 
and me see your sketch ? ” 

The Warden had made his request with 
rather more freedom than perhaps he would to 
a lady whom he considered on a level with him¬ 
self, though with perfect respect, that being con¬ 
sidered ; and Redclyffe, looking at the person, 
saw that it was the same of whose face he had 
had a glimpse in the looking-glass, in the old 
palmer’s chamber. 

“No, Doctor Hammond,” said the young 
lady, with a respectful sort of frankness, “ you 
must excuse me. I am no good artist, and am 
but jotting down the old church because I like 
it.” 

“Well, well, as you please,” said the War¬ 
den ; and whispered aside to Redclyffe, “ A 
girl’s sketchbook is seldom worth looking at. 
But now. Miss Cheltenham, I am about to give 
my American friend here a lecture on gargoyles, 
and other peculiarities of sacred Gothic architec¬ 
ture ; and if you will honor me with your at- 
247 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


tendon, I should be glad to find my audience 
increased by one.” 

So the young lady arose, and Reddy fife, con¬ 
sidering the Warden’s allusion to him as a sort 
of partial introduction, bowed to her, and she 
responded with a cold, reserved, yet not un¬ 
pleasant sort of courtesy. They went towards 
the church porch, and, looking in at the old 
stone bench on each side of the interior, the 
Warden showed them the hacks of the swords 
of the Roundheads, when they took it by storm. 
Redclyffe, mindful of the old graveyard on the 
edge of which he had spent his childhood, be¬ 
gan to look at this far more antique receptacle, 
expecting to find there many ancient tomb¬ 
stones, perhaps of contemporaries or predeces¬ 
sors of the founders of his country. In this, 
however, he was disappointed, at least in a great 
measure ; for the persons buried in the church¬ 
yard were probably, for the most part, of a hum¬ 
ble rank in life, such as were not so ambitious 
as to desire a monument of any kind, but were 
content to let their low earth-mounds subside 
into the level, where their memory had waxed 
so faint that none among the survivors could 
point out the spot, or cared any longer about 
knowing it; while in other cases, where a mon¬ 
ument of red freestone, or even of hewn gran¬ 
ite, had been erected, the English climate had 
forthwith set to work to gnaw away the inscrip- 
248 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


tions ; so that in fifty years — in a time that 
would have left an American tombstone as fresh 
as if just cut — it was quite impossible to make 
out the record. Their superiors, meanwhile, 
were sleeping less enviably in dismal mouldy 
and dusty vaults, instead of under the daisies. 
Thus Redclyffe really found less antiquity here 
than in the graveyard which might almost be 
called his natal spot. 

When he said something to this effect, the 
Warden nodded. 

“ Yes,” said he, ‘‘and, in truth, we have not 
much need of inscriptions for these poor people. 
All good families — every one almost, with any 
pretensions to respectable station, has his family 
or individual recognition within the church, or 
upon its walls; or some of them you see on 
tombs on the outside. As for our poorer friends 
here, they are content, as they may well be, to 
swell and subside, like little billows of mortal¬ 
ity, here on the outside.” 

“ And for my part,” said Redclyffe, “ if there 
were anything particularly desirable on either 
side, I should like best to sleep under this lovely 
green turf, with the daisies strewn over me by 
Nature herself, and whatever other homely flow¬ 
ers any friend might choose to add.” 

“ And, Doctor Hammond,” said the young 
woman, “ we see by this gravestone that some¬ 
times a person of humble rank may happen to 
249 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

be commemorated, and that Nature — in this 
instance at least — seems to take especial pains 
and pleasure to preserve the record/’ 

She indicated a flat gravestone, near the porch, 
which time had indeed beautified in a singular 
way, for there was cut deep into it a name and 
date, in old English characters, — very deep it 
must originally have been ; and as if in despair 
of obliterating it. Time had taken the kindlier 
method of filling up the letters with moss; so 
that now, high embossed in loveliest green, was 
seen the name Richard Oglethorpe 1613 ” ; — 
green, and flourishing, and beautiful, like the 
memory of a good man. The inscription ori¬ 
ginally seemed to have contained some twenty 
lines, which might have been poetry, or perhaps 
a prose eulogy, or perhaps the simple record of 
the buried person’s life ; but all this, having been 
done in fainter and smaller letters, was now so 
far worn away as to be illegible ; nor had they 
ever been deep enough to be made living in 
moss, like the rest of the inscription. 

‘‘ How tantalizing,” remarked Redclyffe, ‘‘ to 
see the verdant shine of this name, impressed 
upon us as something remarkable — and nothing 
else ! I cannot but think that there must be 
something worth remembering about a man thus 
distinguished, when two hundred years have 
taken all these natural pains to illustrate and 
250 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


emblazon ‘ Richard Oglethorpe 1613/ Ha ! I 
surely recollect that name. It haunts me some¬ 
how, as if it had been familiar of old.” 

“ And me,” said the young lady. 

‘‘It was an old name, hereabouts,” observed 
the Warden, “but has been long extinct, — a 
cottage name, not a gentleman’s. I doubt not 
that Oglethorpes sleep in many of these undis¬ 
tinguished graves.” 

Redclyffe did not much attend to what his 
friend said, his attention being attracted to the 
tone — to something in the tone of the young 
lady, and also to her coincidence in his remark 
that the name appealed to some early recollec¬ 
tion. He had been taxing his memory, to tell 
him when and how the name had become famil¬ 
iar to him; and he now remembered that it had 
occurred in the old Doctor’s story of the Bloody 
Footstep, told to him and Elsie, so long ago.* 
To him and Elsie ! It struck him — what if 
it were possible — but he knew it was not — 
that the young lady had a remembrance also of 
the fact, and that she, after so many years, were 
mingling her thoughts with his ? As this fancy 
recurred to him, he endeavored to get a glimpse 
of her face, and while he did so she turned it 
upon him. It was a quick, sensitive face, that 
did not seem altogether English; he would 
rather have imagined it American; but at all 
251 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 

events he could not recognize it as one that he 
had seen before, and a thousand fantasies died 
within him as, in his momentary glance, he took 
in the volume of its contour. 

252 


CHAPTER XVIII 

AFTER the two friends had parted from 
/-A the young lady, they passed through 
the village, and entered the park gate 
of Braithwaite Hall, pursuing a winding road 
through its beautiful scenery, which realized all 
that Redclyffe had read or dreamed about the 
perfect beauty of these sylvan creations, with 
the clumps of trees, or sylvan oaks, picturesquely 
disposed. To heighten the charm, they saw a 
herd of deer reposing, who, on their appear¬ 
ance, rose from their recumbent position, and 
began to gaze warily at the strangers ; then, 
tossing their horns, they set off on a stampede, 
but only swept round, and settled down not far 
from where they were. Redclyffe looked with 
great interest at these deer, who were at once 
wild and civilized; retaining a kind of free for¬ 
est citizenship, while yet they were in some 
sense subject to man. It seemed as if they 
were a link between wild nature and tame; as 
if they could look back, in their long recollec¬ 
tions, through a vista, into the times when Eng¬ 
land's forests were as wild as those of America, 
though now they were but a degree more re¬ 
moved from domesticity than cattle, and took 

253 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


their food in winter from the hand of man, and 
in summer reposed upon his lawns. This 
seemed the last touch of that delightful con¬ 
quered and regulated wildness, which English 
art has laid upon the whole growth of English 
nature, animal or vegetable. 

“ There is nothing really wild in your whole 
island,” he observed to the Warden. “ I have 
a sensation as if somebody knew, and had cul¬ 
tivated and fostered, and set out in its proper 
place, every tree that grows ; as if somebody had 
patted the heads of your wildest animals and 
played with them. It is very delightful to me, 
for the present; and yet, I think, in the course 
of time, I should feel the need for something 
genuine, as it were, — something that had not 
the touch and breath of man upon it. I sup¬ 
pose even your skies are modified by the modes 
of human life that are going on beneath them. 
London skies, of course, are so ; but the breath 
of a great people, to say nothing of its furnace 
vapors and hearth smokes, makes the sky other 
than it was a thousand years ago.” 

“ I believe we English have a feeling like 
this occasionally,” replied the Warden, “ and it 
is from that, partly, that we must account for 
our adventurousness into other regions, espe¬ 
cially for our interest in what is wild and new. 
In your own forests, now, and prairies, I fancy 
we find a charm that Americans do not. In 

254 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


the sea, too, and therefore we are yachters. 
For my part, however, I have grown to like 
Nature a little smoothed down, and enriched; 
less gaunt and wolfish than she would be if left 
to herself.” 

‘‘ Yes ; I feel that charm too,” said ReddyIfe. 

But yet life would be slow and heavy, me- 
thinks, to see nothing but English parks.” 

Continuing their course through the noble 
clumps of oaks, they by and by had a vista of 
the distant hall itself. It was one of the old 
English timber and plaster houses, many of 
which are of unknown antiquity; as was the 
case with a portion of this house, although 
other portions had been renewed, repaired, or 
added, within a century. It had, originally, the 
Warden said, stood all round an enclosed 
courtyard, like the great houses of the Conti¬ 
nent ; but now one side of the quadrangle had 
long been removed, and there was only a front, 
with two wings ; the beams of old oak being 
picked out with black, and three or four gables 
in a line forming the front, while the wings 
seemed to be stone. It was the timber portion 
that was most ancient. A clock was on the 
midmost gable, and pointed now towards one 
o’clock. The whole scene impressed Red- 
clyffe, not as striking, but as an abode of an¬ 
cient peace, where generation after generation 
of the same family had lived, each making the 

255 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

most of life, because the life of each successive 
dweller there was eked out with the lives of all 
who had hitherto lived there, and had in it 
equally those lives which were to come after¬ 
wards ; so that there was a rare and successful 
contrivance for giving length, fulness, body, 
substance, to this thin and frail matter of hu¬ 
man life. And, as life was so rich in compre¬ 
hensiveness, the dwellers there made the most 
of it for the present and future, each genera¬ 
tion contriving what it could to add to the cosi¬ 
ness, the comfortableness, the grave, solid re¬ 
spectability, the sylvan beauty, of the house 
with which they seemed to be connected both 
before and after death. The family had its 
home there; not merely the individual. An¬ 
cient shapes, that had apparently gone to the 
family tomb, had yet a right by family hearth 
and in family hall; nor did they come thither 
cold and shivering, and diffusing dim ghostly 
terrors, and repulsive shrinkings, and death in 
life; but in warm, genial attributes, making 
this life now passing more dense, as it were, by 
adding all the substance of their own to it. 
Reddyffe could not compare this abode, and 
the feelings that it aroused, to the houses of his 
own country; poor tents of a day, inns of a 
night, where nothing was certain, save that the 
family of him who built it would not dwell here, 
even if he himself should have the bliss to die 
256 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


under the roof which, with absurdest anticipa¬ 
tions, he had built for his posterity. Posterity ! 
An American can have none. 

“ All this sort of thing is beautiful; the 
family institution was beautiful in its day,” 
ejaculated he aloud, to himself, not to his com¬ 
panion ; but it is a thing of the past. It is 
dying out in England; and as for ourselves, 
we never had it. Something better will come 
up ; but as for this, it is past.” 

That is a sad thing to say,” observed the 
Warden, by no means comprehending what was 
passing in his friend’s mind. But if you wish 
to view the interior of the Hall, we will go 
thither; for, harshly as I have spoken of the 
owner, I suppose he has English feeling enough 
to give us lunch and show us the old house of 
his forefathers.” 

Not at present, if you please,” replied Red- 
clyffe. ‘‘ I am afraid of destroying my delight¬ 
ful visionary idea of the house by coming too 
near it. Before I leave this part of the coun¬ 
try, I should be glad to ramble over the whole 
of it, but not just now.” 

While Redclyffe was still enjoying the frank 
hospitality of his new friend, a rather marked 
event occurred in his life ; yet not so important 
in reality as it seemed to his English friend. 

A large letter was delivered to him, bearing 
the official seal of the United States and the 
257 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

indorsement of the State Department; a very 
important-looking document, which could not 
but add to the importance of the recipient in 
the eyes of Englishmen, accustomed as they 
are to bow down before any seal of government. 
Redclyffe opened it rather coolly, being rather 
loath to renew any of his political remem¬ 
brances, now that he was in peace ; or to think 
of the turmoil of modern and democratic poli¬ 
tics, here in this quietude of gone-by ages and 
customs. The contents, however, took him 
by surprise ; nor did he know whether to be 
pleased or not. 

The official package, in short, contained an 
announcement that he had been appointed by 
the President, by and with the advice of the 
Senate, to one of the Continental missions, 
usually esteemed an object of considerable am¬ 
bition to any young man in politics; so that, 
if consistent with his own pleasure, he was now 
one of the Diplomatic Corps, a Minister, and 
representative of his country. On first consid¬ 
ering the matter, Redclyffe was inclined to 
doubt whether this honor had been obtained for 
him altogether by friendly aid, though it did 
happen to have much in it that might suit his 
half-formed purpose of remaining long abroad; 
but with an eye already rendered somewhat ob¬ 
lique by political practice, he suspected that a 
political rival — a rival, though of his own party 
258 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


— had been exerting himself to provide an in¬ 
ducement for Redclyffe to leave the local field 
to him ; while he himself should take advan¬ 
tage of the vacant field, and his rival be thus 
insidiously, though honorably, laid on the shelf, 
whence if he should try to remove himself 
a few years hence the shifting influences of 
American politics would be likely enough to 
thwart him ; so that, for the sake of being a few 
years nominally somebody, he might in fine 
come back to his own country and find him¬ 
self permanently nobody. But Redclyffe had 
already sufficiently begun to suspect that he 
lacked some qualities that a politician ought to 
have, and without which a political life, whether 
successful or otherwise, is sure to be a most 
irksome one: some qualities he lacked, others 
he had, both almost equally an obstacle. When 
he communicated the offer, therefore, to his 
friend, the Warden, it was with the remark that 
he believed he should accept it. 

“ Accept it ? cried the Warden, opening his 
eyes. I should think so, indeed ! Why, it puts 
you above the level of the highest nobility of 
the Court to which you are accredited; simple 
republican as you are, it gives you rank with 
the old blood and birth of Europe. Accept it ? 
By all means ; and I will come and see you at 
your court.” 

‘‘ Nothing is more different between England 
259 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


and America/’ said RedclyfFe, “ than the differ¬ 
ent way in which the citizen of either country 
looks at official station. To an Englishman, a 
commission, of whatever kind, emanating from 
his sovereign, brings apparently a gratifying 
sense of honor; to an American, on the con¬ 
trary, it offers really nothing of the kind. He 
ceases to be a sovereign, — an atom of sover¬ 
eignty, at all events, — and stoops to be a ser¬ 
vant. If I accept this mission, honorable as you 
think it, I assure you I shall not feel myself 
quite the man I have hitherto been ; although 
there is no obstacle in the way of party obliga¬ 
tions or connections to my taking it, if I please.” 

“ I do not well understand this,” quoth the 
good Warden. ‘‘It is one of the promises of 
Scripture to the wise man, that he shall stand 
before kings, and that this embassy will enable 
you to do. No man — no man of your coun¬ 
try surely —is more worthy to do so ; so pray 
accept.” 

“ I think I shall,” said Redclyffe. 

Much as the Warden had seemed to affec- 
tionize Redclyffe hitherto, the latter could not 
but be sensible, thereafter, of a certain deference 
in his friend towards him, which he would fain 
have got rid of, had it been in his power. How¬ 
ever, there was still the same heartiness under 
it all; and after a little he seemed, in some de¬ 
gree, to take Redclyffe’s own view of the mat- 
260 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


ter; — namely, that, being so temporary as 
these republican distinctions are, they really do 
not go skin-deep, have no reality in them, and 
that the sterling quality of the man, be it higher 
or lower, is nowise altered by it, — an apo¬ 
thegm that is true even of an hereditary nobil¬ 
ity, and still more so of our own Honorables 
and Excellencies. However, the good Warden 
was glad of his friend's dignity, and perhaps, 
too, a little glad that this high fortune had be¬ 
fallen one whom he chanced to be entertaining 
under his roof. As it happened, there was an 
opportunity which might be taken advantage of 
to celebrate the occasion; at least, to make it 
known to the English world so far as the extent 
of the county.^ 

It was an hereditary custom for the Warden 
of Braithwaite Hospital, once a year, to give a 
grand dinner to the nobility and gentry of the 
neighborhood; and to this end a bequest had 
been made by one of the former squires or lords 
of Braithwaite which would of itself suffice to 
feed forty or fifty Englishmen with reasonable 
sumptuousness. The present Warden, being a 
gentleman of private fortune, was accustomed 
to eke the limited income, devoted for this 
purpose, with such additions from his own 
resources as brought the rude and hearty hos¬ 
pitality contemplated by the first founder on a 
par with modern refinements of gourmandism. 

261 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


The banquet was annually given in the fine old 
hall where James the Second had feasted ; and 
on some of these occasions the Warden’s table 
had been honored with illustrious guests, espe¬ 
cially when any of them happened to be wanting 
an opportunity to come before the public in an 
after-dinner speech. Just at present there was 
no occasion of that sort; and the good Warden 
fancied that he might give considerable 'eclat to 
his hereditary feast by bringing forward the 
young American envoy, a distinguished and 
eloquent man, to speak on the well-worn topic 
of the necessity of friendly relations between 
England and America. 

“You are eloquent, I doubt not, my young 
friend ? ” inquired he. 

“ Why, no,” answered Redclyffe modestly. 

“ Ah, yes, I know it,” returned the Warden. 
“If one have all the natural prerequisites of 
eloquence : a quick sensibility, ready thought, 
apt expression, a good voice, — and not making 
its way into the world through your nose either, 
as they say most of your countrymen’s voices 
do. You shall make the crack speech at my 
dinner; and so strengthen the bonds of good- 
fellowship between our two countries, that there 
shall be no question of war for at least six months 
to come.” 

Accordingly, the preparations for this stately 
banquet went on with great spirit, and the 
262 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


Warden exhorted ReddyfFe to be thinking of 
some good topics for his international speech; 
but the young man laughed it off, and told his 
friend that he thought the inspiration of the 
moment, aided by the good old wine which the 
Warden had told him of, as among the trea¬ 
sures of the Hospital, would perhaps serve him 
better than any elaborate preparation. 

Redclyffe, being not even yet strong, used to 
spend much time, when the day chanced to be 
pleasant (which was oftener than his preconcep¬ 
tions of English weather led him to expect), in 
the garden behind the Warden’s house. It was 
an extensive one, and apparently as antique as 
the foundation of the establishment; and during 
all these years it had probably been growing 
richer and richer. Here were flowers of ancient 
race, and some that had been merely field or 
wayside flowers when first they came into the gar¬ 
den ; but by long cultivation and hereditary care, 
instead of dying out, they had acquired a new 
richness and beauty, so that you would scarcely 
recognize the daisy or the violet. Roses too, 
there were, which Doctor Hammond said had 
been taken from those white and red rose-trees 
in the Temple Gardens, whence the partisans 
of York and Lancaster had plucked their fatal 
badges. With these, there were all the modern 
and far-fetched flowers from America, the East, 
and elsewhere ; even the prairie flowers and the 
263 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 


California blossoms were represented here ; for 
one of the brethren had horticultural tastes, and 
was permitted freely to exercise them there. 
The antique character of the garden was pre¬ 
served, likewise, by the alleys of box, a part of 
which had been suffered to remain, and was now 
grown to a great height and density, so as to 
make impervious green walls. There were also 
yew-trees clipped into strange shapes of bird and 
beast, and uncouth heraldic figures, among which 
of course the leopard’s head grinned triumphant; 
and as for fruit, the high garden wall was lined 
with pear-trees, spread out flat against it, where 
they managed to produce a cold, flavorless fruit, 
a good deal akin to cucumbers. 

Here, in these genial old arbors, Reddyffe 
used to recline in the sweet, mild summer 
weather, basking in the sun, which was seldom 
too warm to make its full embrace uncomfort¬ 
able ; and it seemed to him, with its fertility, 
with its marks everywhere of the quiet long-be¬ 
stowed care of man, the sweetest and cosiest se¬ 
clusion he had ever known; and two or three 
times a day, when he heard the screech of the 
railway train, rushing on towards distant Lon¬ 
don, it impressed him still more with a sense of 
safe repose here. 

Not unfrequently he here met the white- 
bearded palmer in whose chamber he had found 
himself, as if conveyed thither by enchantment, 
264 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

when he first came to the Hospital. The old 
man was not by any means of the garrulous 
order ; and yet he seemed full of thoughts, full 
of reminiscences, and not disinclined to the 
company of Reddyffe. In fact, the latter some¬ 
times flattered himself that a tendency for his 
society was one of the motives that brought him 
to the garden; though the amount of their in¬ 
tercourse, after all, was not so great as to war¬ 
rant the idea of any settled purpose in so doing. 
Nevertheless, they talked considerably; and 
Redclyffe could easily see that the old man had 
been an extensive traveller, and had perhaps 
occupied situations far different from his present 
one, and had perhaps been a struggler in trou¬ 
bled waters before he was drifted into the re¬ 
tirement where Redclyffe found him. He was 
fond of talking about the unsuspected relation¬ 
ship that must now be existing between many 
families in England and unknown consanguin¬ 
ity in the New World, where, perhaps, really the 
main stock of the family tree was now existing, 
and with a new spirit and life, which the repre¬ 
sentative growth here in England had lost by 
too long continuance in one air and one mode 
of life. For history and observation proved 
that all people — and the English people by no 
means less than others — needed to be trans¬ 
planted, or somehow renewed, every few gener¬ 
ations ; so that, according to this ancient phi- 
265 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


losopher’s theory, it would be good for the whole 
people of England, now, if it could at once be 
transported to America, where its fatness, its 
sleepiness, its too great beefiness, its preponder¬ 
ant animal character, would be rectified by a 
different air and soil; and equally good, on the 
other hand, for the whole American people to 
be transplanted back to the original island, 
where their nervousness might be weighted with 
heavier influences, where their little women 
might grow bigger, where their thin, dry men 
might get a burden of flesh and good stomachs, 
where their children might, with the air, draw 
in a reverence for age, forms, and usage. 

Redclyffe listened with complacency to these 
speculations, smiling at the thought of such an 
exodus as would take place, and the reciprocal 
dissatisfaction which would probably be the re¬ 
sult. But he had greater pleasure in drawing 
out some of the old gentleman's legendary lore, 
some of which, whether true or not, was very 
curious.^ 

As Redclyffe sat one day watching the old 
man in the garden, he could not help being 
struck by the scrupulous care with which he 
attended to the plants ; it seemed to him that 
there was a sense of justice, — of desiring to do 
exactly what was right in the matter, not favor¬ 
ing one plant more than another, and doing all 
he could for each. His progress, in conse- 
266 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


quence, was so slow, that in an hour, while Red- 
clyfFe was off and on looking at him, he had 
scarcely done anything perceptible. Then he 
was so minute ; and often, when he was on the 
point of leaving one thing to take up another, 
some small neglect that he saw or fancied called 
him back again, to spend other minutes on the 
same task. He was so full of scruples. It 
struck Redclyffe that this was conscience, mor¬ 
bid, sick, a despot in trifles, looking so closely 
into life that it permitted nothing to be done. 
The man might once have been strong and able, 
but by some unhealthy process of his life he 
had ceased to be so now. Nor did any happy 
or satisfactory result appear to come from these 
painfully wrought efforts ; he still seemed to 
know that he had left something undone in do¬ 
ing too much in another direction. Here was 
a lily that had been neglected, while he paid too 
much attention to a rose ; he had set his foot 
on a violet; he had grubbed up, in his haste, a 
little plant that he mistook for a weed, but that 
he now suspected was an herb of grace. Grieved 
by such reflections as these, he heaved a deep 
sigh, almost amounting to a groan, and sat down 
on the little stool that he carried with him in his 
weeding, resting his face in his hands. 

Redclyffe deemed that he might be doing the 
old man a good service by interrupting his mel¬ 
ancholy labors ; so he emerged from the oppo- 
267 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


site door of the summer-house, and came along 
the adjoining walk with somewhat heavy foot¬ 
steps, in order that the palmer might have 
warning of his approach without any grounds to 
suppose that he had been watched hitherto. 
Accordingly, when he turned into the other 
alley, he found the old man sitting erect on his 
stool, looking composed, but still sad, as was 
his general custom. 

‘‘ After all your wanderings and experience,** 
said he, I observe that you come back to the 
original occupation of cultivating a garden, — 
the innocentest of all.** 

“ Yes, so it would seem,** said the old man ; 
“ but somehow or other I do not find peace in 
this.** 

These plants and shrubs,** returned Red- 
clyffe, seem at all events to recognize the good¬ 
ness of your rule, so far as it has extended over 
them. See how joyfully they take the sun; how 
clear [they are] from all these vices that lie 
scattered round, in the shape of weeds. It is a 
lovely sight, and I could almost fancy a quiet 
enjoyment in the plants themselves, which they 
have no way of making us aware of, except by 
giving out a fragrance.** 

“ Ah ! how infinitely would that idea increase 
man*s responsibility,** said the old palmer, if, 
besides man and beast, we should find it neces¬ 
sary to believe that there is also another set of 
268 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

beings dependent for their happiness on our do¬ 
ing, or leaving undone, what might have effect 
on them ! ” 

“ I question,’* said Redclyffe, smiling, ‘‘whe¬ 
ther their pleasurable or painful experiences can 
be so keen, that we need trouble our consciences 
much with regard to what we do, merely as it 
affects them. So highly cultivated a conscience 
as that would be a nuisance to one’s self and 
one’s fellows.” 

“You say a terrible thing,” rejoined the old 
man. “ Can conscience be too much alive in 
us ? Is not everything, however trifling it seems, 
an item in the great account, which it is of in¬ 
finite importance, therefore, to have right ? A 
terrible thing is that you have said.” 

“ That may be,” said Redclyffe; “ but it is 
none the less certain to me, that the efficient 
actors — those who mould the world — are the 
persons in whom something else is developed 
more strongly than conscience. There must 
be an invincible determination to effect some¬ 
thing ; it may be set to work in the right direc¬ 
tion, but after that it must go onward, trampling 
down small obstacles — small considerations of 
right and wrong — as a great rock, thundering 
down a hillside, crushes a thousand sweet flow¬ 
ers, and ploughs deep furrows in the innocent 
hillside.” 

As Redclyffe gave vent to this doctrine, which 
269 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


was not naturally his, but which had been the 
inculcation of a life hitherto devoted to politics, 
he was surprised to find how strongly sensible 
he became of the ugliness and indefensibleness 
of what he said. He felt as if he were speak¬ 
ing under the eye of Omniscience, and as if 
every word he said were weighed, and its empti¬ 
ness detected, by an unfailing intelligence. He 
had thought that he had volumes to say about 
the necessity of consenting not to do right in all 
matters minutely, for the sake of getting out an 
available and valuable right as the whole; but 
there was something that seemed to tie his 
tongue. Could it be the quiet gaze of this old 
man, so unpretending, so humble, so simple in 
aspect ? He could not tell, only that he fal¬ 
tered, and finally left his speech in the midst. 

But he was surprised to find how he had to 
struggle against a certain repulsion within him¬ 
self to the old man. He seemed so nonsen¬ 
sical, interfering with everybody’s right in the 
world ; so mischievous, standing there and shut¬ 
ting out the possibility of action. It seemed 
well to trample him down ; to put him out of 
the way — no matter how — somehow. It gave 
him, he thought, an inkling of the way in which 
this poor old man had made himself odious to 
his kind, by opposing himself, inevitably, to 
what was bad in man, chiding it by his very 
presence, accepting nothing false. You must 
270 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


either love him utterly, or hate him utterly ; 
for he could not let you alone. RedclyfFe, being 
a susceptible man, felt this influence in the 
strongest way ; for it was as if there was a bat¬ 
tle within him, one party pulling, wrenching 
him towards the old man, another wrenching 
him away, so that, by the agony of the contest, 
he felt disposed to end it by taking flight, and 
never seeing the strange individual again. He 
could well enough conceive how a brutal nature, 
if capable of receiving his influence at all, might 
find it so intolerable that it must needs get rid 
of him by violence, — by taking his blood if 
necessary. 

All these feelings were but transitory, how¬ 
ever ; they swept across him like a wind, arid 
then he looked again at the old man and saw 
only his simplicity, his unworldliness, — saw 
little more than the worn and feeble individual 
in the Hospital garb, leaning on his staff, and 
then turning again with a gentle sigh to weed in 
the garden. And then Redclyffe went away, 
in a state of disturbance for which he could not 
account to himself. 

271 


CHAPTER XIX 


H igh up in the old carved roof, mean¬ 
while, the spiders of centuries still hung 
their flaunting webs with a profusion 
that old Doctor Grimshawe would have been 
ravished to see ; but even this was to be reme¬ 
died, for one day, on looking in, Redclyffe found 
the great hall dim with floating dust, and down 
through it came great floating masses of cob¬ 
web, out of which the old Doctor would have 
undertaken to regenerate the world ; and he 
saw, dimly aloft, men on ladders sweeping away 
these accumulations of years, and breaking up 
the haunts and residences of hereditary spiders. 

The stately old hall had been in process of 
cleaning and adapting to the banquet purposes 
of the nineteenth century, which it was accus¬ 
tomed to subserve, in so proud a way, in the 
sixteenth. It was, in the first place, well swept 
and cleansed; the painted glass windows were 
cleansed from dust, and several panes, which 
had been unfortunately broken and filled with 
common glass, were filled in with colored panes, 
which the Warden had picked up somewhere 
in his antiquarian researches. They were not, 
to be sure, just what was wanted, — a piece of 
272 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


a saint, from some cathedral window, supplying 
what was lacking of the gorgeous purple of a 
mediaeval king; but the general effect was rich 
and good, whenever the misty English atmo¬ 
sphere supplied sunshine bright enough to per¬ 
vade it. Tapestry, too, from antique looms, 
faded, but still gorgeous, was hung upon the 
walls. Some suits of armor, that hung beneath 
the festal gallery, were polished till the old bat¬ 
tered helmets and pierced breastplates sent a 
gleam like that with which they had flashed 
across the battlefields of old.^ 

So now the great day of the Warden's din¬ 
ner had arrived ; and, as may be supposed, there 
were fiery times in the venerable old kitchen. 
The cook, according to ancient custom, con¬ 
cocted many antique dishes, such as used to be 
set before kings and nobles ; dainties that might 
have called the dead out of their graves ; combi¬ 
nations of ingredients that had ceased to be put 
together for centuries ; historic dishes, which 
had long, long ceased to be in the list of revels. 
Then there was the stalwart English cheer of the 
sirloin, and the round; there were the vast plum 
puddings, the juicy mutton, the venison ; there 
was the game, now just in season, — the half- 
tame wild fowl of* English covers, the half-do¬ 
mesticated wild deer of English parks, the heath 
cock from the far-off hills of Scotland, and one 
little prairie hen and some canvas-back ducks 
273 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


— obtained. Heaven knows how, in compliment 
to RedclyflFe — from his native shores. O, the 
old jolly kitchen ! how rich the flavored smoke 
that went up its vast chimney! how inestima¬ 
ble the atmosphere of steam that was diffused 
through it! How did the old men peep into 
it, even venture across the threshold, braving 
the hot wrath of the cook and his assistants, for 
the sake of imbuing themselves with these rich 
and delicate flavors, receiving them in as it were 
spiritually ! — for, received through the breath 
and in the atmosphere, it was really a spiritual 
enjoyment. The ghosts of ancient epicures 
seemed, on that day and the few preceding ones, 
to haunt the dim passages, snuffing in with shad¬ 
owy nostrils the rich vapors, assuming visibil¬ 
ity in the congenial medium, almost becoming 
earthly again in the strength of their earthly 
longings for one other feast such as they used to 
enjoy. 

Nor is it to be supposed that it was only these 
antique dainties that the Warden provided for 
his feast. No; if the cook, the cultured and 
recondite old cook, who had accumulated within 
himself all that his predecessors knew for cen¬ 
turies, — if he lacked anything of modern fash¬ 
ion and improvement, he had supplied his defect 
by temporary assistance from a London club ; 
and the bill of fare was provided with dishes that 
Soyer would not have harshly criticised. The 
274 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


ethereal delicacy of modern taste, the nice ad¬ 
justment of flowers, the French style of cookery, 
was richly attended to; and the list was long 
of dishes with fantastic names, fish, fowl, and 
flesh; and entremets^ and “ sweets,” as the Eng¬ 
lish call them, and sugared cates, too numerous 
to think of. 

The wines we will not take upon ourselves to 
enumerate ; but the juice, then destined to be 
quaffed, was in part the precious vintages that 
had been broached half a century ago, and had 
been ripening ever since; the rich and dry old 
port, so unlovely to the natural palate that it 
requires long English seasoning to get it down ; 
the sherry, imported before these modern days 
of adulteration; some claret, the Warden said 
of rarest vintage ; some Burgundy, of which it 
was the quality to warm the blood and genialize 
existence for three days after it was drunk. Then 
there was a rich liquid contributed to this de¬ 
partment by Redclyffe himself; for, some weeks 
since, when the banquet first loomed in the dis¬ 
tance, he had (anxious to evince his sense of 
the Warden's kindness) sent across the ocean 
for some famous Madeira which he had inher¬ 
ited from the Doctor, and never tasted yet. 
This, together with some of the Western wines 
of America, had arrived, and was ready to be 
broached. 

The Warden tested these modern wines, and 
275 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


recognized a new flavor, but gave it only a 
moderate approbation ; for, in truth, an elderly 
Englishman has not a wide appreciation of wines, 
nor loves new things in this kind more than in 
literature or life. But he tasted the Madeira, 
too, and underwent an ecstasy, which was only 
alleviated by the dread of gout, which he had 
an idea that this wine must bring on, — and 
truly, if it were so splendid a wine as he pro¬ 
nounced it, some pain ought to follow as the 
shadow of such a pleasure. 

As it was a festival of antique date, the dinner 
hour had been fixed earlier than is usual at such 
stately banquets; namely, at six o'clock, which 
was long before the dusky hour at which English¬ 
men love best to dine. About that period, the 
carriages drove into the old courtyard of the 
Hospital in great abundance ; blocking up, too, 
the ancient portal, and remaining in a line outside. 
Carriages they were with armorial bearings, fam¬ 
ily coaches in which came Englishmen in their 
black coats and white neckcloths, elderly, white- 
headed, fresh-colored, squat; not beautiful, cer¬ 
tainly, nor particularly dignified, nor very well 
dressed, nor with much of an imposing air, but 
yet, somehow or other, producing an effect of 
force, respectability, reliableness, trust, which is 
probably deserved, since it is invariably expe¬ 
rienced. Cold they were in deportment, and 
looked coldly on the stranger, who, on his part, 
276 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

drew himself up with an extra haughtiness and 
reserve, and felt himself in the midst of his en¬ 
emies, and more as if we were going to do battle 
than to sit down to a friendly banquet. The 
Warden introduced him, as an American diplo¬ 
matist, to one or two of the gentlemen, who 
regarded him forbiddingly, as Englishmen do 
before dinner. 

Not long after Reddyffe had entered the re¬ 
ception room, which was but shortly before the 
hour appointed for the dinner, there was an¬ 
other arrival betokened by the clatter of hoofs 
and grinding wheels in the courtyard ; and then 
entered a gentleman of different mien from the 
bluff, ruddy, simple-minded, yet worldly Eng¬ 
lishmen around him. He was a tall, dark man, 
with a black mustache and almost olive skin, 
a slender, lithe figure, a flexible face, quick, 
flashing, mobile. His deportment was graceful; 
his dress, though it seemed to differ in little or 
nothing from that of the gentlemen in the room, 
had yet a grace and picturesqueness in his mode 
of wearing it. He advanced to the Warden, 
who received him with distinction, and yet, Red¬ 
dy ffe fancied, not exactly with cordiality. It 
seemed to Reddy ffe that the Warden looked 
round, as if with the purpose of presenting Red- 
clyffe to this gentleman, but he himself, from 
some latent reluctance, had turned away and 
entered into conversation with one of the other 
277 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


gentlemen, who said now, looking at the new¬ 
comer, “ Are you acquainted with this last ar¬ 
rival ?'' 

“ Not at all,” said RedclyfFe. “ I know Lord 
Braithwaite by sight, indeed, but have had no 
introduction. He is a man, certainly, of dis¬ 
tinguished app-iwance.” 

‘‘ Why, pretty well,” said the gentleman, but 
un-English, as also are his manners. It is a pity, 
to see an old English family represented by such 
a person. Neither he, his father, nor grand¬ 
father was born among us; he has far more 
Italian blood than enough to drown the slender 
stream of Anglo-Saxon and Norman. His 
modes of life, his prejudices, his estates, his reli¬ 
gion, are unlike our own ; and yet here he is in 
the position of an old English gentleman, pos¬ 
sibly to be a peer. You, whose nationality em¬ 
braces that of all the world, cannot, I suppose, 
understand this English feeling.” ^ 

“ Pardon me,” said RedclyfFe, I can per¬ 
fectly understand it. An American, in his feel¬ 
ings towards England, has all the jealousy and 
exclusiveness of Englishmen themselves,— per¬ 
haps, indeed, a little exaggerated.” 

“ I beg your pardon,” said the Englishman 
incredulously. I think you cannot possibly 
understand it! ” ^ 

The guests were by this time all assembled, 
278 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 

and at the Warden’s bidding they moved from 
the reception room to the dining hall, in some 
order and precedence, of which Redclylfe could 
not exactly discover the principle, though he 
found that to himself—in his quality, doubt¬ 
less, of Ambassador — there was assigned a 
pretty high place. A venerable dignitary of the 
Church — a dean, he seemed to be — having 
asked a blessing, the fair scene of the banquet 
now lay before the guests, presenting a splendid 
spectacle, in the high-walled, antique, tapestried 
hall, overhung with the dark, intricate oaken 
beams, with the high Gothic windows, through 
one of which the setting sunbeams streamed, 
and showed the figures of kings and warriors, 
and the old Braithwaites among them. Beneath 
and adown the hall extended the long line of 
the tables, covered with the snow of the damask 
tablecloth, on which glittered, gleamed, and 
shone a good quality of ancient ancestral plate, 
and an epergne of silver, extending down the 
middle; also the gleam of golden wine in the 
decanters; and truly Redclyffe thought that it 
was a noble spectacle, made so by old and stately 
associations, which made a noble banquet of 
what otherwise would be only a vulgar dinner. 
The English have this advantage, and know how 
to make use of it. They bring—in these old, 
time-honored feasts — all the past to sit down 
279 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


and take the stately refreshment along with 
them, and they pledge the historic characters in 
their wine. 

A printed bill of fare, in gold letters, lay by 
each plate, on which Redclyffe saw the company 
glancing with great interest. The first dish, of 
course, was turtle soup, of which — as the gen¬ 
tleman next him, the Mayor of a neighboring 
town, told Redclyffe — it was allowable to take 
twice. This was accompanied, according to one 
of those rules which one knows not whether they 
are arbitrary or founded on some deep reason, 
by a glass of punch. Then came the noble 
turbot, the salmon, the sole, and divers of fishes, 
and the dinner fairly set in. The genial War¬ 
den seemed to have given liberal orders to the 
attendants, for they spared not to offer hock, 
champagne, sherry, to the guests, and good bit¬ 
ter ale, foaming in the goblet; and so the stately 
banquet went on, with somewhat tedious mag¬ 
nificence ; and yet with a fulness of effect and 
thoroughness of sombre life that made Red¬ 
clyffe feel that, so much importance being as¬ 
signed to it, — it being so much believed in, — 
it was indeed a feast. The cumbrous courses 
swept by, one after another; and Redclyffe, 
finding it heavy work, sat idle most of the time, 
regarding the hall, the old decaying beams, the 
armor hanging beneath the galleries, and these 
Englishmen feasting where their fathers had 
280 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

feasted for so many ages, the same occasion, the 
same men, probably, in appearance, though the 
black coat and the white neckcloth had taken 
the place of rulF, embroidered doublet, and the 
magnificence of other ages. After all, the Eng¬ 
lish have not such good things to eat as we in 
America, and certainly do not know better how 
to make them palatable.^ 

Well; but by and by the dinner came to a 
conclusion, as regarded the eating part; the 
cloth was withdrawn; a dessert of fruits, fresh 
and dried, pines, hothouse grapes, and all can¬ 
died conserves of the Indies, was put on the 
long extent of polished mahogany. There was 
a tuning up of musicians, an interrogative draw¬ 
ing of fiddle bows, and other musical twangs and 
puffs ; the decanters opposite the Warden and 
his vice president — sherry, port, Redclyffe's 
Madeira, and claret — were put in motion 
along the table, and the guests filled their glasses 
for the toast which, at English dinner tables, is 
of course the first to be honored, — the Queen. 
Then the band struck up the good old anthem, 
God save the Queen, which the whole com¬ 
pany rose to their feet to sing. It was a spec¬ 
tacle both interesting and a little ludicrous to 
Redclyffe, — being so apart from an American’s 
sympathies, so unlike anything that he has in 
his life or possibilities,—this active and warm 
sentiment of loyalty, in which love of country 
281 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 

centres, and assimilates, and transforms itself 
into a passionate affection for a person, in whom 
they love all their institutions. To say the 
truth, it seemed a happy notion; nor could the 
American — while he comforted himself in the 
pride of his democracy, and that he himself was 
a sovereign’— could he help envying it a little, 
this childlike love and reverence for a person 
embodying all their country, their past, their 
earthly future. He felt that it might be de¬ 
lightful to have a sovereign, provided that sov¬ 
ereign were always a woman, — and perhaps a 
young and fine one. But, indeed, this is not 
the difficulty, methinks, in English institutions 
which the American finds it hardest to deal with. 
We could endure a born sovereign, especially if 
made such a mere pageant as the English make 
of theirs. What we find it hardest to conceive 
of is, the satisfaction with which Englishmen 
think of a race above them, with privileges that 
they cannot share, entitled to condescend to 
them, and to have gracious and beautiful man¬ 
ners at their expense ; to be kind, simple, un¬ 
pretending, because these qualities are more 
available than haughtiness; to be specimens of 
perfect manhood ; — all these advantages in con¬ 
sequence of their position. If the peerage were 
a mere name, it would be nothing to envy; but 
it is so much more than a name; it enables 
men to be really so superior. The poor, the 
282 


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lower classes, might bear this well enough ; but 
the classes that come next to the nobility,— 
the upper middle classes, — how they bear it 
so lovingly is what must puzzle the American. 
But probably the advantage of the peerage is 
the less perceptible the nearer it is looked at. 

It must be confessed that Redclyffe, as he 
looked at this assembly of peers and gentlemen, 
thought with some self-gratulation of the prob¬ 
ability that he had within his power as old a 
rank, as desirable a station, as the best of them ; 
and that if he were restrained from taking it, it 
would probably only be by the democratic pride 
that made him feel that he could not, retaining 
all his manly sensibility, accept this gewgaw on 
which the ages — his own country especially — 
had passed judgment, while it had been sus¬ 
pended over his head. He felt himself, at any 
rate, in a higher position, having the option 
of taking this rank, and forbearing to do so, 
than if he took it.^ 

After this ensued a ceremony which is of 
antique date in old English corporations and 
institutions, at their high festivals. It is called 
the Loving Cup. A sort of herald or toast¬ 
master behind the Warden’s chair made pro¬ 
clamation, reciting the names of the principal 
guests, and announcing to them, “ The War¬ 
den of the Braithwaite Hospital drinks to you 
in a Loving Cup ; ” of which cup, having sipped, 
283 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 

or seemed to sip (for Redclyffe observed that 
the old drinkers were rather shy of it), a small 
quantity, he sent it down the table. Its pro¬ 
gress was accompanied with a peculiar entangle¬ 
ment of ceremony, one guest standing up while 
another drinks, being pretty much as follows. 
First, each guest receiving it covered from the 
next above him, the same took from the silver 
cup its silver cover; the guest drank with a 
bow to the Warden and company, took the 
cover from the preceding guest, covered the 
cup, handed it to the next below him, then 
again removed the cover, replaced it after the 
guest had drunk, who, on his part, went through 
the same ceremony. And thus the cup went 
slowly on its way down the stately hall; these 
ceremonies being, it is said, originally precau¬ 
tions against the risk, in wild times, of being 
stabbed by the man who was drinking with you, 
or poisoned by one who should fail to be your 
taster. The cup was a fine, ancient piece of 
plate, massive, heavy, curiously wrought with 
armorial bearings, in which the leopard’s head 
appeared. Its contents, so far as Redclyffe could 
analyze them by a moderate sip, appeared to 
be claret, sweetened, with spices, and, however 
suited to the peculiarity of antique palates, was 
not greatly to Redclyffe’s taste.® 

Redclyffe’s companion just below him, while 
284 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

the Loving Cup was beginning its march, had 
been explaining the origin of the custom as a 
defence of the drinker in times of deadly feud ; 
when it had reached Lord Braithwaite, who 
drank and passed it to Redclyffe covered, and 
with the usual bow, Redclyife looked into his 
Lordship's Italian eyes and dark face as he did 
so, and the thought struck him, that, if there 
could possibly be any use in keeping up this 
old custom, it might be so now; for, how inti¬ 
mated he could hardly tell, he was sensible in 
his deepest self of a deadly hostility in this dark, 
courteous, handsome face. He kept his eyes 
fixed on his Lordship as he received the cup, 
and felt that in his own glance there was an ac¬ 
knowledgment of the enmity that he perceived, 
and a defiance, expressed without visible sign, 
and felt in the bow with which they greeted one 
another. When they had both resumed their 
seats, Redclyffe chose to make this ceremonial 
intercourse the occasion of again addressing him. 

I know not whether your Lordship is more 
accustomed than myself to these stately cere¬ 
monials," said he. 

No," said Lord Braithwaite, whose English 
was very good. ‘‘ But this is a good old cere¬ 
mony, and an ingenious one; for does it not 
twine us into knotted links of love — this Lov¬ 
ing Cup — like a wreath of Bacchanals whom I 
285 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


have seen surrounding an antique vase. Doubt¬ 
less it has great efficacy in entwining a company 
of friendly guests into one affectionate society.” 

“ Yes ; it should seem so,” replied Redclyffe, 
with a smile, and again meeting those black eyes, 
which smiled back on him. ‘‘ It should seem 
so, but it appears that the origin of the custom 
was quite different, and that it was as a safeguard 
to a man when he drank with his enemy. What 
a peculiar flavor it must have given to the liquor, 
when the eyes of two deadly foes met over the 
brim of the Loving Cup, and the drinker knew 
that, if he withdrew it, a dagger would be in his 
heart, and the other watched him drink, to see 
if it was poison ! ” 

“ Ah ! ” responded his Lordship, ‘‘ they had 
strange fashions in those rough old times. Now¬ 
adays, we neither stab, shoot, nor poison. I 
scarcely think we hate except as interest guides 
us, without malevolence.” 

This singular conversation was interrupted 
by a toast, and the rising of one of the guests 
to answer it. Several other toasts of routine 
succeeded ; one of which, being to the honor of 
the old founder of the Hospital, Lord Braith- 
waite, as his representative, rose to reply, — 
which he did in good phrases, in a sort of elo¬ 
quence unlike that of the Englishmen around 
him, and, sooth to say, comparatively unaccus¬ 
tomed as he must have been to the use of the 
286 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

language, much more handsomely than they. 
In truth, ReddyfFe was struck and amused with 
the rudeness, the slovenliness, the inartistic qual¬ 
ity of the English speakers, who rather seemed 
to avoid grace and neatness of set purpose, as if 
they would be ashamed of it. Nothing could 
be more ragged than these utterances which they 
called speeches, so patched and darned ; and 
yet, somehow or other — though dull and heavy 
as all which seemed to inspire them — they had 
a kind of force. Each man seemed to have the 
faculty of getting, after some rude fashion, at 
the sense and feeling that was in him; and with¬ 
out glibness, without smoothness, without form 
or comeliness, still the object with which each 
one rose to speak was accomplished, — and what 
was more remarkable, it seemed to be accom¬ 
plished without the speaker’s having any partic¬ 
ular plan for doing it. He was surprised, too, 
to observe how loyally every man seemed to 
think himself bound to speak, and rose to do 
his best, however unfit his usual habits made 
him for the task. Observing this, and thinking 
how many an American would be taken aback 
and dumbfounded by being called on for a 
dinner speech, he could not but doubt the cor¬ 
rectness of the general opinion, that Englishmen 
are naturally less facile of public speech than 
our countrymen. 

“ You surpass your countrymen,” said Red- 
287 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


clyfFe, when his Lordship resumed his seat, amid 
rapping and loud applause. 

‘‘ My countrymen ? I scarcely know whether 
you mean the English or Italians,’' said Lord 
Braithwaite. Like yourself, I am a hybrid, 
with really no country, and ready to take up with 
any.” 

“ I have a country, — one which I am little 
inclined to deny,” replied RedclyfFe gravely, 
while a flush (perhaps of conscientious shame) 
rose to his brow. 

His Lordship bowed, with a dark Italian 
smile, but RedclyfFe’s attention was drawn away 
from the conversation by a toast which the War¬ 
den now rose to give, and in which he found 
himself mainly concerned. With a little preface 
of kind words (not particularly aptly applied) 
to the great and kindred country beyond the 
Atlantic, the worthy Warden proceeded to re¬ 
mark that his board was honored, on this high 
festival, with a guest from that new world ; a 
gentleman yet young, but already distinguished 
in the councils of his country ; the bearer, he 
remarked, of an honored English name, which 
might well claim to be remembered here, and on 
this occasion, although he had understood from 
his friend that the American bearers of this name 
did not count kindred with the English ones. 
This gentleman, he further observed, with con¬ 
siderable flourish and emphasis, had recently 
288 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

been called from his retirement and wanderings 
into the diplomatic service of his country, which 
he would say, from his knowledge, the gentle¬ 
man was well calculated to honor. He drank 
the health of the Honorable Edward Reddyffe. 
Ambassador of the United States to the Court 
of Hohen-Linden. 

Our English cousins received this toast with 
the kindest enthusiasm, as they always do any 
such allusion to our country; it being a festal 
feeling, not to be used except on holidays. They 
rose, with glass in hand, in honor of the Am¬ 
bassador ; the band struck up Hail, Colum¬ 
bia ; and our hero marshalled his thoughts as 
well as he might for the necessary response, and 
when the tumult subsided he arose. 

His quick apprehending had taught him 
something of the difference of taste between an 
English and an American audience at a dinner 
table; he felt that there must be a certain loose¬ 
ness, and carelessness, and roughness, and yet a 
certain restraint; that he must not seem to aim 
at speaking well, although, for his own ambition, 
he was not content to speak ill; that, somehow 
or other, he must get a heartiness into his speech; 
that he must not polish, nor be too neat, and 
must come with a certain rudeness to his good 
points, as if he blundered on them, and were sur¬ 
prised into them. Above all, he must let the 
good wine and cheer, and all that he knew and 
289 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 

really felt of English hospitality, as represented 
by the kind Warden, do its work upon his heart, 
and speak up to the extent of what he felt — 
and if a little more, then no great harm — about 
his own love for the fatherland, and the broader 
grounds of the relations between the two coun¬ 
tries. On this system, Redclyffe began to speak; 
and being naturally and habitually eloquent, and 
of mobile and ready sensibilities, he succeeded, 
between art and nature, in making a speech that 
absolutely delighted the company, who made 
the old hall echo, and the banners wave and 
tremble, and the board shake, and the glasses 
jingle, with their rapturous applause. What he 
said — or some shadow of it, and more than he 
quite liked to own — was reported in the county 
paper that gave a report of the dinner; but on 
glancing over it, it seems not worth while to 
produce this eloquent effort in our pages, the 
occasion and topics being of merely temporary 
interest. 

Redclyffe sat down, and sipped his claret, 
feeling a little ashamed of himself, as people are 
apt to do after a display of this kind. 

‘‘You know the way to the English heart 
better than I do,'* remarked his Lordship, after 
a polite compliment to the speech. “ Methinks 
these dull English are being improved in your 
atmosphere. The English need a change every 
few centuries, — either by immigration of new 
290 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


stock, or transportation of the old, — or else 
they grow too gross and earthly, with their beef, 
mutton, and ale. I think, now, it might bene¬ 
fit both countries, if your New England popu¬ 
lation were to be reciprocally exchanged with an 
equal number of Englishmen. Indeed, Italians 
might do as well.” 

“ I should regret,” said RedclyflFe, “ to change 
the English, heavy as they are.” 

‘‘ You are an admirable Englishman,” said his 
Lordship. “ For my part, I cannot say that the 
people are very much to my taste, any more 
than their skies and climate, in which I have 
shivered during the two years that I have spent 
here.” 

Here their conversation ceased; and Reddyffe 
listened to a long train of speechifying, in the 
course of which everybody, almost, was toasted ; 
everybody present, at all events, and many ab¬ 
sent. The Warden's old wine was not spared; 
the music rang and resounded from the gallery ; 
and everybody seemed to consider it a model 
feast, although there were no very vivid signs 
of satisfaction, but a decorous, heavy enjoyment, 
a dull red heat of pleasure, without flame. Soda 
and seltzer water, and coffee, by and by were 
circulated ; and at a late hour the company be¬ 
gan to retire. 

Before taking his departure. Lord Braithwaite 
resumed his conversation with Redclyffe, and, 
291 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


as it appeared, with the purpose of making a 
hospitable proposition. 

“ I live very much alone,’* said he, being 
insulated from my neighbors by many circum¬ 
stances, — habits, religion, and everything else 
peculiarly English. If you are curious about 
old English modes of life, I can show you, at 
least, an English residence, little altered within 
a century past. Pray come and spend a week 
with me before you leave this part of the coun¬ 
try. Besides, I know the court to which you 
are accredited, and can give you, perhaps, use¬ 
ful information about it.” 

RedclyfFe looked at him in some surprise, 
and with a nameless hesitation; for he did not 
like his Lordship, and had fancied, in truth, that 
there was a reciprocal antipathy. Nor did he 
yet fed that he was mistaken in this respect; 
although his Lordship’s invitation was given in 
a tone of frankness, and seemed to have no re¬ 
serve, except that his eyes did not meet his like 
Anglo-Saxon eyes, and there seemed an Italian 
looking out from within the man. But Red¬ 
clyfFe had a sort of repulsion within himself; 
and he questioned whether it would be fair to 
his proposed host to accept his hospitality, while 
he had this secret feeling of hostility and repug¬ 
nance, — which might be well enough accounted 
for by the knowledge that he secretly entertained 
hostile interests to their race, and half a purpose 
292 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


of putting them in force. And, besides this, — 
although Redclyffe was ashamed of the feeling, 
— he had a secret dread, a feeling that it was 
not just a safe thing to trust himself in this man's 
power; for he had a sense, sure as death, that 
he did not wish him well, and had a secret dread 
of the American. But he laughed within him¬ 
self at this feeling, and drove it down. Yet it 
made him feel that there could be no disloyalty 
in accepting his Lordship's invitation, because 
it was given in as little friendship as it would be 
accepted. 

“ I had almost made my arrangements for 
quitting the neighborhood," said he, after a 
pause; ‘‘ nor can I shorten the week longer 
which I had promised to spend with my very 
kind friend, the Warden. Yet your Lordship's 
kindness offers me a great temptation, and I 
would gladly spend the next ensuing week at 
Braithwaite Hall." 

I shall expect you, then," said Lord Braith¬ 
waite. ‘‘You will find me quite alone, except 
my chaplain, — a scholar, and a man of the 
world, whom you will not be sorry to know." 

He bowed and took his leave, without shak¬ 
ing hands, as an American would have thought 
it natural to do, after such a hospitable agree¬ 
ment ; nor did Redclyffe make any motion 
towards it, and was glad that his Lordship had 
omitted it. On the whole, there was a secret 

293 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 

dissatisfaction with himself, a sense that he was 
not doing quite a frank and true thing in accept¬ 
ing this invitation, and he only made peace with 
himself on the consideration that Lord Braith- 
waite was as little cordial in asking the visit as 
he in acceding to it. 


294 


CHAPTER XX 


T he guests were now rapidly taking 
their departure, and the Warden and 
RedclylFe were soon left alone in the 
antique hall, which now, in its solitude, pre¬ 
sented an aspect far different from the gay fes¬ 
tivity of an hour before; the duskiness up in 
the carved oaken beams seemed to descend and 
fill the hall; and the remembrance of the feast 
was like one of those that had taken place cen¬ 
turies ago, with which this was now numbered, 
and growing ghostly, and faded, and sad, even 
as they had long been. 

‘‘Well, my dear friend,” said the Warden, 
stretching himself and yawning, “ it is over. 
Come into my study with me, and we will have 
a devilled turkey bone and a pint of sherry in 
peace and comfort.” 

“ I fear I can make no figure at such a sup¬ 
per,” said Redclyffe. “ But I admire your 
inexhaustibleness in being ready for midnight 
refreshment after such a feast.” 

“Not a glass of good liquor has moistened 
my lips to-night,” said the Warden, “save and 
except such as was supplied by a decanter of 
water made brown with toast; and such a sip 
295 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


as I took to the health of the Queen, and an¬ 
other to that of the Ambassador to Hohen- 
Linden. It is the only way, when a man has 
this vast labor of speechifying to do; and in¬ 
deed there is no possibility of keeping up a jolly 
countenance for such a length of time except on 
toast water/’ 

They accordingly adjourned to the Warden’s 
sanctum, where that worthy dignitary seemed 
to enjoy himself over his sherry and cracked 
bones, in a degree that he probably had not 
heretofore; while Redclyffe, whose potations 
had been more liberal, and who was feverish 
and disturbed, tried the effect of a little brandy 
and soda water. As often happens at such mid¬ 
night symposiums, the two friends found them¬ 
selves in a more kindly and confidential vein 
than had happened before, great as had been 
the kindness and confidence already grown up 
between them. Redclyffe told his friend of 
Lord Braithwaite’s invitation, and of his own 
resolution to accept it. 

“Why not? You will do well,” said the 
Warden; “and you will find his Lordship an 
accustomed host, and the old house most inter¬ 
esting. If he knows the secrets of it himself, 
and will show them, they will be well worth the 
seeing.” 

“ I have had a scruple in accepting this invi¬ 
tation,” said Redclyffe. 

296 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


“ I cannot see why/* said the Warden. ‘‘ I 
advise it by all means, since I shall lose nothing 
by it myself, as it will not lop off any part of 
your visit to me.** 

“ My dear friend,** said Redclyffe, irresisti¬ 
bly impelled to a confidence which he had not 
meditated a moment before, “ there is a foolish 
secret which I must tell you, if you will listen 
to it; and which I have only not revealed to 
you because it seemed to me foolish and dream¬ 
like ; because, too, I am an American, and a 
democrat; because I am ashamed of myself and 
laugh at myself.** 

‘‘ Is it a long story ? ** asked the Warden. 

I can make it of any length, and almost any 
brevity,** said Redclyffe. 

‘‘ I will fill my pipe then,** answered the 
Warden, ‘‘ and listen at my ease; and if, as you 
intimate, there prove to be any folly in it, I will 
impute it all to the kindly freedom with which 
you have partaken of our English hospitality, 
and forget it before to-morrow morning.** 

He settled himself in his easy-chair, in a 
most luxurious posture; and Redclyffe, who 
felt a strange reluctance to reveal — for the first 
time in his life — the shadowy hopes, if hopes 
they were, and purposes, if such they could be 
called, with which he had amused himself so 
many years, begun the story from almost the 
earliest period that he could remember. He 
297 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


told even of his earliest recollection, with an old 
woman, in the almshouse, and how he had been 
found there by the Doctor, and educated by 
him, with all the hints and half-revelations that 
had been made to him. He described the sin¬ 
gular character of the Doctor, his scientific pur¬ 
suits, his evident accomplishments, his great 
abilities, his morbidness and melancholy, his 
moodiness, and finally his death, and the sin¬ 
gular circumstances that accompanied it. The 
story took a considerable time to tell; and after 
its close, the Warden, who had only interrupted 
it by now and then a question to make it 
plainer, continued to smoke his pipe slowly 
and thoughtfully for a long while. 

“ This Doctor of yours was a singular char¬ 
acter,” said he. ‘‘ Evidently, from what you 
tell me as to the accuracy of his local reminis¬ 
cences, he must have been of this part of the 
country,— of this immediate neighborhood,— 
and such a man could not have grown up here 
without being known. I myself — for I am an 
old fellow now — might have known him if he 
lived to manhood hereabouts.” 

^ He seemed old to me when I first knew 
him,” said Redclyffe. “ But children make no 
distinctions of age. He might have been forty- 
five then, as well as I can judge.” 

“ You are now twenty seven or eight,” said 
the Warden, “ and were four years old when 
298 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


you first knew him. He might now be sixty- 
five. Do you know, my friend, that I have 
something like a certainty that I know who 
your Doctor was ? ** 

“ How strange this seems ! ” exclaimed Red- 
clyfFe. ‘‘It has never struck me that I should 
be able to identify this singular personage with 
any surroundings or any friends.” 

The Warden, to requite his friend’s story, 
— and without as yet saying a word, good or 
bad, on his ancestral claims, — proceeded to tell 
him some of the gossip of the neighborhood,— 
what had been gossip thirty or forty years ago, 
but was now forgotten, or, at all events, seldom 
spoken of, and only known to the old, at the 
present day. He himself remembered it only 
as a boy, and imperfectly. There had been a 
personage of that day, a man of poor estate, 
who had fallen deeply in love and been be¬ 
trothed to a young lady of family ; he was a 
young man of more than ordinary abilities, and 
of great promise, though small fortune. It was 
not well known how, but the match between 
him and the young lady was broken off, and his 
place was supplied by the then proprietor of 
Braithwaite Hall; as it was supposed, by the 
artifices of her mother. There had been cir¬ 
cumstances of peculiar treachery in the matter, 
and Mr. Oglethorpe had taken it severely to 
heart; so severely, indeed, that he had left the 
299 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


country, after selling his ancestral property, 
and had only been occasionally heard of again. 
Now, from certain circumstances, it had struck 
the Warden that this might be the mysterious 
Doctor of whom RedclyfFe spoke.^ 

“ But why,” suggested Redclyife, should a 
man with these wrongs to avenge take such an 
interest in a descendant of his enemy's family ? ” 

“That is a strong point in favor of my sup¬ 
position,” replied the Warden. “ There is cer¬ 
tainly, and has long been, a degree of proba¬ 
bility that the true heir of this family exists in 
America. If Oglethorpe could discover him, 
he ousts his enemy from the estate and honors, 
and substitutes the person whom he has dis¬ 
covered and educated. Most certainly there is 
revenge in the thing. Should it happen now, 
however, the triumph would have lost its sweet¬ 
ness, even were Oglethorpe alive to partake of 
it; for his enemy is dead, leaving no heir, and 
this foreign branch has come in without Ogle¬ 
thorpe's aid.” 

The friends remained musing a considerable 
time, each in his own train of thought, till the 
Warden suddenly spoke. 

“ Do you mean to prosecute this apparent 
claim of yours ? ” 

“ I have not intended to do so,” said Red- 
clyffe. 

“ Of course,” said the Warden, “that should 
300 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

depend upon the strength of your ground ; and 
I understand you that there is some link want¬ 
ing to establish it. Otherwise, I see not how 
you can hesitate. Is it a little thing to hold a 
claim to an old English estate and honors?'' 

‘‘No ; it is a very great thing, to an Eng¬ 
lishman born, and who need give up no higher 
birthright to avail himself of it," answered Red- 
clyffe. “ You will laugh at me, my friend ; but 
I cannot help feeling that I, a simple citizen of 
a republic, yet with none above me except those 
whom I help to place there, — and who are 
my servants, not my superiors, — must stoop to 
take these honors. I leave a set of institutions 
which are the noblest that the wit and civiliza¬ 
tion of man have yet conceived, to enlist my¬ 
self in one that is based on a far lower concep¬ 
tion of man, and which therefore lowers every 
one who shares in it. Besides," said the 
young man, his eyes kindling with the ambi¬ 
tion which had been so active a principle in his 
life, “ what prospects — what rewards for spirited 
exertion — what a career, only open to an Amer¬ 
ican, would I give up, to become merely a rich 
and idle Englishman, belonging (as I should) 
nowhere, without a possibility of struggle, such 
as a strong man loves, with only a mockery of 
a title, which in these days really means no¬ 
thing, — hardly more than one of our own Hon- 
orables! What has any success in English life 
301 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

to offer (even were it within my reach, which, 
as a stranger, it would not be) to balance the 
proud career of an American statesman ? 

“ True, you might be a President, I suppose,” 
said the Warden rather contemptuously,—“a 
four years' potentate. It seems to me an of¬ 
fice about on a par with that of the Lord Mayor 
of London. For my part, I would rather be 
a baron of three or four hundred years’ anti¬ 
quity.” 

“We talk in vain,” said Reddy ffe, laughing. 
“We do not approach one another’s ideas on 
this subject. But, waiving all speculations as 
to my attempting to avail myself of this claim, 
do you think I can fairly accept this invitation 
to visit Lord Braithwaite ? There is certainly 
a possibility that I may arraign myself against 
his dearest interests. Conscious of this, can I 
accept his hospitality ? ” 

The Warden paused. “You have not sought 
access to his house,” he observed. “ You have 
no designs, it seems, no settled designs at all 
events, against his Lordship, — nor is there a 
probability that they would be forwarded by 
your accepting this invitation, even if you had 
any. I do not see but you may go. The only 
danger is, that his Lordship’s engaging quali¬ 
ties may seduce you into dropping your claims 
out of a chivalrous feeling, which I see is among 
your possibilities. To be sure, it would be 
302 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


more satisfactory if he knew your actual posi¬ 
tion, and should then renew his invitation/' 

‘‘ I am convinced/' said Redclyffe, looking 
up from his musing posture/* that he does know 
them. You are surprised; but in all Lord 
Braithwaite's manner towards me there has been 
an undefinable something that makes me aware 
that he knows on what terms we stand towards 
each other. There is nothing inconceivable in 
this. The family have for generations been sus¬ 
picious of an American line, and have more than 
once sent messengers to try to search out and 
put a stop to the apprehension. Why should 
it not have come to their knowledge that there 
was a person with such claims, and that he is 
now in England ? " 

** It certainly is possible," replied the Warden, 
** and if you are satisfied that his Lordship knows 
it, or even suspects it, you meet him on fair 
ground. But I fairly tell you, my good friend, 
that — his Lordship being a man of unknown 
principles of honor, outlandish, and an Italian 
in habit and moral sense—I scarcely like to 
trust you in his house, he being aware that your 
existence may be inimical to him. My humble 
board is the safer of the two." 

“Pshaw!" said Redclyffe. “You English¬ 
men are so suspicious of anybody not regularly 
belonging to yourselves. Poison and the dag¬ 
ger haunt your conceptions of all others. In 

303 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


America you think we kill every third man with 
the bowie knife. But, supposing there were any 
grounds for your suspicion, I would still en¬ 
counter it. An American is no braver than an 
Englishman; but still he is not quite so chary 
of his life as the latter, who never risks it except 
on the most imminent necessity. We take such 
matters easy. In regard to this invitation, I 
feel that I can honorably accept it, and there are 
many idle and curious motives that impel me to 
it. I will go.” 

“ Be it so; but you must come back to me 
for another week, after finishing your visit,” 
said the Warden. After all, it was an idle 
fancy in me that there could be any danger. 
His Lordship has good English blood in his 
veins, and it would take oceans and rivers of 
Italian treachery to wash out the sterling quality 
of it. And, my good friend, as to these claims 
of yours, I would not have you trust too much 
to what is probably a romantic dream ; yet, were 
the dream to come true, I should think the 
British peerage honored by such an accession to 
its ranks. And now to bed ; for we have heard 
the chimes of midnight, two hours agone.” 

They accordingly retired ; and Redclyffe was 
surprised to find what a distinctness his ideas 
respecting his claim to the Braithwaite honors 
had assumed, now that he, after so many years, 
had imparted them to another. Heretofore, 

304 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


though his imagination had played with them so 
much, they seemed the veriest dreams; now, 
they had suddenly taken form and hardened into 
substance ; and he became aware, in spite of all 
the lofty and patriotic sentiments which he had 
expressed to the Warden, that these prospects 
had really much importance in his mind. 

Redclyffe, during the few days that he was to 
spend at the Hospital, previous to his visit to 
Braithwaite Hall, was conscious of a restlessness 
such as we have all felt on the eve of some 
interesting event. He wondered at himself at 
being so much wrought up by so simple a thing 
as he was about to do; but it seemed to him 
like a coming home after an absence of centu¬ 
ries. It was like an actual prospect of entrance 
into a castle in the air, — the shadowy threshold 
of which should assume substance enough to 
bear his foot, its thin, fantastic walls actually 
protect him from sun and rain, its hall echo with 
his footsteps, its hearth warm him. That de¬ 
licious, thrilling uncertainty between reality and 
fancy, in which he had often been enwrapt since 
his arrival in this region, enveloped him more 
strongly than ever; and with it, too, there came 
a sort of apprehension, which sometimes shud¬ 
dered through him like an icy draught, or the 
touch of cold steel to his heart. He was ashamed, 
too, to be conscious of anything like fear; yet 
he would not acknowledge it for fear; and in- 

305 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 


deed there was such an airy, exhilarating, thrill¬ 
ing pleasure bound up with it, that it could not 
really be so. 

It was in this state of mind that, a day or two 
after the feast, he saw Colcord sitting on the 
bench, before the portal of the Hospital, in the 
sun, which — September though it was — still 
came warm and bright (for English sunshine) 
into that sheltered spot; a spot were many gen¬ 
erations of old men had warmed their limbs, 
while they looked down into the life, the torpid 
life, of the old village that trailed its homely yet 
picturesque street along by the venerable build¬ 
ings of the Hospital. 

“ My good friend,” said Redclyffe, ‘‘ I am 
about leaving you, for a time, — indeed, with the 
limited time at my disposal, it is possible that 
I may not be able to come back hither, except 
for a brief visit. Before I leave you, I would 
fain know something more about one whom I 
must ever consider my benefactor.” 

“Yes,” said the old man, with his usual be¬ 
nignant quiet, “ I saved your life. It is yet to 
be seen, perhaps, whether thereby I made my¬ 
self your benefactor. I trust so.” 

“ I feel it so, at least,” answered Redclyffe, 
“ and I assure you life has a new value for me 
since I came to this place; for I have a deeper 
hold upon it, as it were, — more hope from it, 
more trust in something good to come of it.” 

306 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


“ This is a good change, — or should be so,** 
quoth the old man. 

“ Do you know,** continued RedclyfFe, “ how 
long you have been a figure in my life? ** 

“ I know it,** said Colcord, though you 
might well have forgotten it.** 

“ Not so,** said RedclyfFe. “ I remember, as 
if it were this morning, that time in New Eng¬ 
land when I first saw you.** 

“ The man with whom you then abode,** said 
Colcord, “ knew who I was.** 

‘‘ And he being dead, and finding you here 
now, by such a strange coincidence,** said Red¬ 
clyfFe, and being myself a man capable of tak¬ 
ing your counsel, I would have you impart it to 
me ; for 1 assure you that the current of my life 
runs darkly on, and I would be glad of any light 
on its future, or even its present phase.** 

“ I am not one of those from whom the world 
waits for counsel,** said the pensioner, and I 
know not that mine would be advantageous to 
you, in the light which men usually prize. Yet 
if I were to give any, it would be that you should 
be gone hence.** 

“ Gone hence ! ** repeated RedclyfFe, sur¬ 
prised. ‘‘ I tell you — what I have hardly 
hitherto told to myself — that all my dreams, 
all my wishes hitherto, have looked forward to 
precisely the juncture that seems now to be ap¬ 
proaching. My dreaming childhood dreamt of 

307 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 

this. If you know anything of me, you know 
how I sprung out of mystery, akin to none, a 
thing concocted out of the elements, without 
visible agency; how all through my boyhood I 
was alone ; how I grew up without a root, yet 
continually longing for one, — longing to be 
connected with somebody, and never feeling my¬ 
self so. Yet there was ever a looking forward 
to this time at which I now find myself. If my 
next step were death, yet while the path seemed 
to lead toward a certainty of establishing me in 
connection with my race, I would take it. I 
have tried to keep down this yearning, to stifle 
it, annihilate it, by making a position for my¬ 
self, by being my own fact; but I cannot over¬ 
come the natural horror of being a creature 
floating in the air, attached to nothing; ever 
this feeling that there is no reality in the life 
and fortunes, good or bad, of a being so uncon¬ 
nected. There is not even a grave, not a heap 
of dry bones, not a pinch of dust, with which I 
can claim kindred, unless I find it here! ” 

“ This is sad,” said the old man, — “ this 
strong yearning, and nothing to gratify it. Yet, 
I warn you, do not seek its gratification here. 
There are delusions, snares, pitfalls, in this life. 
I warn you, quit the search.” 

‘‘ No,” said Reddyffe, “ I will follow the mys¬ 
terious clue that seems to lead me on; and, even 
now, it pulls me one step further.” 

308 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


“ How is that? ” asked the old man. 

“It leads me onward even as far as the thresh¬ 
old — across the threshold — of yonder man¬ 
sion/’ said Redclyffe. 

“ Step not across it; there is blood on that 
threshold ! ” exclaimed the pensioner. “ A 
bloody footstep emerging. Take heed that 
there be not as bloody a one entering in! ” 

“ Pshaw ! ” said Redclylfe, feeling the ridicule 
of the emotion into which he had been betrayed, 
as the old man’s wildness of demeanor made him 
feel that he was talking with a monomaniac. 
“We are talking idly. I do but go, in the com¬ 
mon intercourse of society, to see the old Eng-r 
lish residence which (such is the unhappy ob¬ 
scurity of my position) I fancy, among a thousand 
others, may have been that of my ancestors. 
Nothing is likely to come of it. My foot is 
not bloody, nor polluted with anything except 
the mud of the damp English soil.” 

“Yet go not in! ” persisted the old man. 

“ Yes, I must go,” said Redclyffe determin¬ 
edly, “ and I will.” 

Ashamed to have been moved to such idle 
utterances by anything that the old man could 
say, Redclyffe turned away, though he still heard 
the sad, half-uttered remonstrance of the old 
man, like a moan behind him, and wondered 
what strange fancy had taken possession of him. 

The effect which this opposition had upon 

309 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

him made him the more aware how much his 
heart was set upon this visit to the Hall; how 
much he had counted upon being domiciliated 
there; what a wrench it would be to him to tear 
himself away without going into that mansion, 
and penetrating all the mysteries wherewith his 
imagination, exercising itself upon the theme 
since the days of the old Doctor's fireside talk, 
had invested it. In his agitation he wandered 
forth from the Hospital, and, passing through 
the village street, found himself in the park of 
Braithwaite Hall, where he wandered for a space, 
until his steps led him to a point whence the 
venerable Hall appeared, with its limes and its 
oaks around it; its look of peace, and aged re¬ 
pose, and loveliness ; its stately domesticity, so 
ancient, so beautiful; its mild, sweet simplicity: 
it seemed the ideal of home. The thought 
thrilled his bosom, that this was his home,-— 
the home of the wild Western wanderer, who 
had gone away centuries ago, and encountered 
strange chances, and almost forgotten his origin, 
but still kept a clue to bring him back; and had 
now come back, and found all the original emo¬ 
tions safe within him. It even seemed to him, 
that, by his kindred with those who had gone 
before, — by the line of sensitive blood linking 
him with that final emigrant, — he could re¬ 
member all these objects ; — that tree, hardly 
more venerable now than then; that clock 
310 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


tower, still marking the elapsing time ; that 
spire of the old church, raising itself beyond. 
He spread out his arms in a kind of rapture, 
and exclaimed: — 

‘‘ O home, my home, my forefathers* home! 
I have come back to thee ! The wanderer has 
come back ! ** 

There was a slight stir near him ; and on a 
mossy seat, that was arranged to take advan¬ 
tage of a remarkably good point of view of the 
old Hall, he saw Elsie sitting. She had her 
drawing materials with her, and had probably 
been taking a sketch. Redclyffe was ashamed 
of having been overheard by any one giving way 
to such idle passion as he had been betrayed 
into ; and yet, in another sense, he was glad, — 
glad, at least, that something of his feeling, as 
yet unspoken to human being, was shared, and 
shared by her with whom, alone of living beings, 
he had any sympathies of old date, and whom he 
often thought of with feelings that drew him 
irresistibly towards her. 

‘‘ Elsie,** said he, uttering for the first time 
the old name, “ Providence makes you my confi¬ 
dante. We have recognized each other, though 
no word has passed between us. Let us speak 
now again with one another. How came you 
hither ? What has brought us together again ? 
— Away with this strangeness that lurks be¬ 
tween us! Let us meet as those who began 

311 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


life together, and whose lifestrings, being so 
early twisted in unison, cannot now be torn 
apart/* 

‘‘ You are not wise,** said Elsie, in a faltering 
voice, “ to break the restraint we have tacitly 
imposed upon ourselves. Do not let us speak 
further on this subject.** 

“ How strangely everything evades me ! ** 
exclaimed Redclyffe. “ I seem to be in a land 
of enchantment, where I can get hold of no¬ 
thing that lends me a firm support. There is 
no medium in my life between the most vulgar 
realities and the most vaporous fiction, too thin 
to breathe. Tell me, Elsie, how came you 
here ? Why do you not meet me frankly ? 
What is there to keep you apart from the old¬ 
est friend, I am bold to say, you have on earth ? 
Are you an English girl ? Are you one of our 
own New England maidens, with her freedom, 
and her know-how, and her force, beyond any¬ 
thing that these demure and decorous damsels 
can know ? ** 

“ This is wild,** said Elsie, struggling for com¬ 
posure, yet strongly moved by the recollections 
that he brought up. “ It is best that we should 
meet as strangers, and so part.** 

“ No,** said Redclyffe ; ‘‘ the long past comes 
up, with its memories, and yet it is not so 
powerful as the powerful present. We have 
met again; our adventures have shown that 
312 





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DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


Providence has designed a relation in my fate 
to yours. Elsie, are you lonely as I am ? ” 

‘‘ No,*' she replied, ‘‘ I have bonds, ties, a life, 
a duty. I must live that life, and do that duty. 
You have, likewise, both. Do yours, lead your 
own life, like me.’* 

“ Do you know, Elsie,” he said, “ whither 
that life is now tending ? ” 

Whither ? ” said she, turning towards him. 

“To yonder Hall,” said he. 

She started up, and clasped her hands about 
his arm. 

“ No, no ! ” she exclaimed, “ go not thither 1 
There is blood upon the threshold ! Return ; 
a dreadful fatality awaits you here.” 

“ Come with me, then,” said he, “ and I yield 
my purpose.” 

“It cannot be,” said Elsie. 

“ Then I, too, tell you it cannot be,” re¬ 
turned Redclyffe.^ 

The dialogue had reached this point, when 
there came a step along the wood path; the 
branches rustled, and there was Lord Braith- 
waite, looking upon the pair with the ordinary 
slightly sarcastic glance with which he gazed 
upon the world. 

“ A fine morning, fair lady and fair sir,” said 
he. “We have few such, except in Italy.” 

313 


CHAPTER XXI 


S O Reddyife left the Hospital, where he 
had spent many weeks of strange and not 
unhappy life, and went to accept the in¬ 
vitation of the lord of Braithwaite Hall. It was 
with a thrill of strange delight, poignant almost 
to pain, that he found himself driving up to 
the door of the Hall, and actually passing the 
threshold of the house. He looked, as he stept 
over it, for the Bloody Footstep, with which 
the house had so long been associated in his 
imagination; but could nowhere see it. The 
footman ushered him into a hall, which seemed 
to be in the centre of the building, and where, 
little as the autumn was advanced, a fire was 
nevertheless burning and glowing on the hearth; 
nor was its effect undesirable in the somewhat 
gloomy room. The servants had evidently re¬ 
ceived orders respecting the guest; for they 
ushered him at once to his chamber, which 
seemed not to be one of those bachelor's rooms, 
where, in an English mansion, young and sin¬ 
gle men are forced to be entertained with very 
bare and straitened accommodations, but a large, 
well, though antiquely and solemnly furnished 
room, with a curtained bed, and all manner of 
3H 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


elaborate contrivances for repose ; but the deep 
embrasures of the windows made it gloomy, 
with the little light that they admitted through 
their small panes. There must have been Eng¬ 
lish attendance in this department of the house¬ 
hold arrangements, at least; for nothing could 
exceed the exquisite nicety and finish of every¬ 
thing in the room, the cleanliness, the attention 
to comfort, amid antique aspects of furniture, 
the rich, deep preparations for repose. 

The servant told Redclyffe that his master 
had ridden out, and, adding that luncheon would 
be on the table at two o’clock, left him ; and 
Redclyffe sat some time trying to make out and 
distinguish the feelings with which he found 
himself here, and realizing a lifelong dream. 
He ran back over all the legends which the 
Doctor used to tell about this mansion, and 
wondered whether this old, rich chamber were 
the one where any of them had taken place ; 
whether the shadows of the dead haunted here. 
But, indeed, if this were the case, the apartment 
must have been very much changed, antique 
though it looked, with the second, or third, or 
whatever other numbered arrangement, since 
those old days of tapestry hangings and rush- 
strewed floor. Otherwise this stately and gloomy 
chamber was as likely as any other to have been 
the one where his ancestor appeared for the last 
time in the paternal mansion; here he might 

315 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


have been the night before that mysterious 
Bloody Footstep was left on the threshold, 
whence had arisen so many wild legends, and 
since the impression of which nothing certain 
had ever been known respecting that ill-fated 
man, — nothing certain in England, at least, — 
and whose story was left so ragged and question¬ 
able even by all that he could add. 

Do what he could, Redclyffe still was not 
conscious of that deep home feeling which he 
had imagined he should experience when, if ever, 
he should come back to the old ancestral place; 
there was strangeness, a struggle within himself 
to get hold of something that escaped him, an 
effort to impress on his mind the fact that he 
was, at last, established at his temporary home 
in the place that he had so long looked forward 
to, and that this was the moment which he would 
have thought more interesting than any other 
in his life. He was strangely cold and indiffer¬ 
ent, frozen up as it were, and fancied that he 
would have cared little had he been obliged to 
leave the mansion without so much as looking 
over the remaining part of it. 

At last, he became weary of sitting and in¬ 
dulging this fantastic humor of indifference, and 
emerged from his chamber with the design of 
finding his way about the lower part of the 
house. The mansion had that delightful intri¬ 
cacy which can never be contrived, never be 
316 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 

attained by design, but is the happy result 
where many builders, many designs, — many 
perhaps, — have concurred in a structure, 
each pursuing his own design. Thus it was a 
house that you could go astray in, as in a city, 
and come to unexpected places, but never, until 
after much accustomance, go where you wished; 
so Reddy ffe, although the great staircase and 
wide corridor by which he had been led to his 
room seemed easy to find, yet soon discovered 
that he was involved in an unknown labyrinth, 
where strange little bits of staircases led up and 
down, and where passages promised much in 
letting him out, but performed nothing. To be 
sure, the old English mansion had not much of 
the stateliness of one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s castles, 
with their suites of rooms opening one into 
another; but yet its very domesticity — its look 
as if long ago it had been lived in — made it 
only the more ghostly ; and so Redclyffe felt the 
more as if he were wandering through a homely 
dream ; sensible of the ludicrousness of his posi¬ 
tion, he once called aloud; but his voice echoed 
along the passages, sounding unwontedly to his 
ears, but arousing nobody. It did not seem to 
him as if he were going afar, but were bewildered 
round and round, within a very small compass ; 
a predicament in which a man feels very fool¬ 
ish, usually. 

As he stood at an old window, stone-mul- 
317 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


Honed, at the end of a passage into which he had 
come twice over, a door near him opened, and 
a personage looked out whom he had not before 
seen. It was a face of great keenness and in¬ 
telligence, and not unpleasant to look at, though 
dark and sallow. The dress had something which 
Redclyffe recognized as clerical, though not ex¬ 
actly pertaining to the Church of England,— 
a sort of arrangement of the vest and shirt collar; 
and he had knee breeches of black. He did not 
seem like an English clerical personage, how¬ 
ever ; for even in this little glimpse of him Red¬ 
clyffe saw a mildness, gentleness, softness, and 
asking-of-leave in his manner, which he had not 
observed in persons so well assured of their 
position as the Church of England clergy. 

He seemed at once to detect Redclyffe’s pre¬ 
dicament, and came forward with a pleasant 
smile, speaking in good English, though with a 
somewhat foreign accent. 

“ Ah, sir, you have lost your way. It is a 
labyrinthian house for its size, this old English 
Hall, — full of perplexity. Shall I show you 
to any point? 

‘‘ Indeed, sir,” said Redclyffe, laughing, “ I 
hardly know whither I want to go; being a 
stranger, and yet knowing nothing of the pub¬ 
lic places of the house. To the library, per¬ 
haps, if you will be good enough to direct me 
thither.” 


318 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


“ Willingly, my dear sir,’* said the clerical 
personage; “ the more easily, too, as my own 
quarters are close adjacent; the library being my 
province. Do me the favor to enter here.” 

So saying, the priest ushered RedclyfFe into 
an austere-looking yet exceedingly neat study, 
as it seemed, on one side of which was an ora¬ 
tory, with a crucifix and other accommodations 
for Catholic devotion. Behind a white curtain 
there were glimpses of a bed, which seemed ar¬ 
ranged on a principle of conventual austerity 
in respect to limits and lack of softness ; but 
still there was in the whole austerity of the 
premises a certain character of restraint, poise, 
principle, which Redclyffe liked. A table was 
covered with books, many of them folios in an 
antique binding of parchment, and others were 
small, thick-set volumes, into which antique lore 
was rammed and compressed. Through an open 
door, opposite to the one by which he had en¬ 
tered, there was a vista of a larger apartment, 
with alcoves, — a rather dreary-looking room, 
though a little sunshine came through a win¬ 
dow at the further end, distained with colored 
glass. 

‘‘ Will you sit down in my little home ? ” 
said the courteous priest. “ I hope we may be 
better acquainted; so allow me to introduce 
myself. I am Father Angelo, domestic chap¬ 
lain to his Lordship. You, I know, are the 

319 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


American diplomatic gentleman, from whom his 
Lordship has been expecting a visit.” 

Redclyffe bowed. 

‘‘ I am most happy to know you,” continued 
the priest. “ Ah, you have a happy country, 
most catholic, most recipient of all that is out¬ 
cast on earth. Men of my religion must ever 
bless it.” 

‘‘It certainly ought to be remembered to our 
credit,” replied Redclyffe, “ that we have shown 
no narrow spirit in this matter, and have not, 
like other Protestant countries, rejected the 
good that is found in any man, on account of 
his religious faith. American statesmanship 
comprises Jew, Catholic, all.” 

After this pleasant little acknowledgment, 
there ensued a conversation having some refer¬ 
ence to books ; for though Redclyffe, of late 
years, had known little of what deserves to be 
called literature, — having found political life as 
much estranged from it as it is apt to be with 
politicians, — yet he had early snuffed the musty 
fragrance of the Doctor's books, and had learned 
to love its atmosphere. At the time he left col¬ 
lege, he was just at the point where he might 
have been a scholar; but the active tendencies 
of American life had interfered with him, as 
with thousands of others, and drawn him away 
from pursuits which might have been better 
adapted to some of his characteristics than the 
320 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


one he had adopted. The priest gently felt and 
touched around his pursuits, and finding some 
remains of classic culture, he kept up a conver¬ 
sation on these points ; showing him the pos¬ 
sessions of the library in that department, where, 
indeed, were some treasures that he had discov¬ 
ered, and which seemed to have been collected 
at least a century ago. 

‘‘ Generally, however,'* observed he, as they 
passed from one dark alcove to another, the 
library is of little worth, except to show how 
much of living truth each generation contrib¬ 
utes to the botheration of life, and what a pub¬ 
lic benefactor a bookworm is, after all. There, 
now ! did you ever happen to see one ? Here 
is one that I have watched at work, some time 
past, and have not thought it worth while to 
stop him." 

Redclyife looked at the learned little insect, 
who was eating a strange sort of circular trench 
into an old book of scholastic Latin, which 
probably only he had ever devoured, — at least 
ever found to his taste. The insect seemed in 
excellent condition, fat with learning, having 
doubtless got the essence of the book into him¬ 
self. But RedclyfFe was still more interested in 
observing in the corner a great spider, which 
really startled him, — not so much for its own 
terrible aspect, though that was monstrous, as 
because he seemed to see in it the very great 
321 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


spider which he had known in his boyhood; that 
same monster that had been the Doctor's famil¬ 
iar, and had been said to have had an influence 
in his death. He looked so startled that Father 
Angelo observed it. 

“ Do not be frightened," said he ; “ though 
I allow that a brave man may well be afraid of 
a spider, and that the bravest of the brave need 
not blush to shudder at this one. There is a 
great mystery about this spider. No one knows 
whence he came, nor how long he has been 
here. The library was very much shut up dur¬ 
ing the time of the last inheritor of the estate, 
and had not been thoroughly examined for some 
years when I opened it, and swept some of the 
dust away from its old alcoves. I myself was 
not aware of this monster until the lapse of 
some weeks, when I was startled at seeing him, 
one day, as I was reading an old book here. 
He dangled down from the ceiling, by the cord¬ 
age of his web, and positively seemed to look 
into my face." 

“ He is of the species Condetas,” said Red- 
clyffe, — ‘‘a rare spider seldom seen out of the 
tropic regions." 

‘‘ You are learned, then, in spiders," observed 
the priest, surprised. 

I could almost make oath, at least, that I 
have known this ugly specimen of his race," 
observed Redclyffe. A very dear friend, now 
322 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


deceased, to whom I owed the highest obliga¬ 
tions, was studious of spiders, and his chief 
treasure was one the very image of this/' 

‘‘How strange ! " said the priest. “There 
has always appeared to me to be something 
uncanny in spiders. I should be glad to talk 
further with you on this subject. Several times 
I have fancied a strange intelligence in this 
monster; but I have natural horror of him, and 
therefore refrain from interviews." 

“ You do wisely, sir," said Redclyife. “ His 
powers and purposes are questionably benefi¬ 
cent, at best." 

In truth, the many-legged monster made the 
old library ghostly to him by the associations 
which it summoned up, and by the idea that it 
was really the identical one that had seemed so 
stuffed with poison, in the lifetime of the Doc¬ 
tor, and at that so distant spot. Yet, on reflec¬ 
tion, it appeared not so strange; for the old 
Doctor's spider, as he had heard him say, was 
one of an ancestral race that he had brought 
from beyond the sea. They might have been 
preserved, for ages possibly, in this old library, 
whence the Doctor had perhaps taken his speci¬ 
men, and possibly the one now before him was 
the sole survivor. It hardly, however, made the 
monster any the less hideous to suppose that 
this might be the case ; and to fancy the poison 
of old times condensed into this animal, who 

323 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


might have sucked the diseases, moral and phy¬ 
sical, of all this family into him, and made 
himself their demon. He questioned with him¬ 
self whether it might not be well to crush him 
at once, and so perhaps do away with the evil 
of which he was the emblem. 

“ I felt a strange disposition to crush this 
monster, at first,'* remarked the priest, as if he 
knew what Redclyffe was thinking of, — ‘‘a 
feeling that in so doing I should get rid of a 
mischief; but then he is such a curious mon¬ 
ster. You cannot long look at him without 
coming to the conclusion that he is indestruc¬ 
tible." 

‘‘ Yes ; and to think of crushing such a deep- 
bowelled monster ! " said Redclyffe, shudder¬ 
ing. ‘‘It is too great a catastrophe." 

During this conversation in which he was so 
deeply concerned, the spider withdrew himself, 
and hand over hand ascended to a remote and 
dusky corner, where was his hereditary abode. 

“ Shall I be likely to meet Lord Braithwaite 
here in the library ? " asked Redclyffe, when the 
fiend had withdrawn himself. “ I have not yet 
seen him since my arrival." 

“ I trust," said the priest, with great courtesy, 
“ that you are aware of some peculiarities in his 
Lordship's habits, which imply nothing in detri¬ 
ment to the great respect which he pays all his 
few guests, and which, I know, he is especially 

324 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


desirous to pay to you. I think that we shall 
meet him at lunch, which, though an English in¬ 
stitution, his Lordship has adopted very readily.*’ 
“ I should hope,” said Redclyffe, willing to 
know how far he might be expected to comply 
with the peculiarities — which might prove to 
be eccentricities — of his host, ‘‘ that my pre¬ 
sence here will not be too greatly at variance 
with his Lordship’s habits, whatever they may 
be. I came hither, indeed, on the pledge that, 
as my host would not stand in my way, so 
neither would I in his.” 

“That is the true principle,” said the priest, 
“ and here comes his Lordship in person to 
begin the practice of it.” 

325 


CHAPTER XXII 

RD BRAITHWAITE came into the 



principal door of the library as the priest 


^ was speaking, and stood a moment just 
upon the threshold, looking keenly out of the 
stronger light into this dull and darksome apart¬ 
ment, as if unable to see perfectly what was with¬ 
in ; or rather, as Redclyffe fancied, trying to dis¬ 
cover what was passing between those two. And, 
indeed, as when a third person comes suddenly 
upon two who are talking of him, the two gen¬ 
erally evince in their manner some consciousness 
of the fact, so it was in this case, with Red¬ 
clyffe at least, although the priest seemed per¬ 
fectly undisturbed, either through practice of 
concealment, or because he had nothing to con¬ 
ceal. 

His Lordship, after a moment’s pause, came 
forward, presenting his hand to Redclyffe, who 
shook it, and not without a certain cordiality ; 
till he perceived that it was the left hand, when 
he probably intimated some surprise by a change 
of manner. 

I am an awkward person,” said his Lord- 
ship. ‘‘ The left hand, however, is nearest the 
heart; so be assured I mean no discourtesy.” 


326 




DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


The Signor Ambassador and myself,” ob¬ 
served the priest, ‘‘ have had a most interesting 
conversation (to me, at least) about books and 
bookworms, spiders, and other congruous mat¬ 
ters ; and I find his Excellency has heretofore 
made acquaintance with a great spider bear¬ 
ing strong resemblance to the hermit of our 
library.” 

‘‘Indeed,” said his Lordship. “I was not 
aware that America had yet enough of age and 
old misfortune, crime, sordidness, that accumu¬ 
late with it, to have produced spiders like this. 
Had he sucked into himself all the noisomeness 
of your heat ? ” 

Redclyffe made some slight answer, that the 
spider was a sort of pet of an old virtuoso to 
whom he owed many obligations in his boy¬ 
hood ; and the conversation turned from this 
subject to others suggested by topics of the day 
and place. His Lordship was affable, and Red¬ 
clyffe could not, it must be confessed, see any¬ 
thing to justify the prejudices of the neighbors 
against him. Indeed, he was inclined to at¬ 
tribute them, in great measure, to the narrow¬ 
ness of the English view, — to those insular 
prejudices which have always prevented them 
from fully appreciating what differs from their 
own habits. At lunch, which was soon an¬ 
nounced, the party of three became very plea¬ 
sant and sociable, his Lordship drinking a light 

327 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


Italian red wine, and recommending it to Red- 
clyfFe ; who, however, was English enough to 
prefer some bitter ale, while the priest contented 
himself with pure water, — which is, in truth, a 
less agreeable drink in chill, moist England than 
in any country we are acquainted with. 

“You must make yourself quite at home 
here,*' said his Lordship, as they rose from 
table. “ I am not a good host, nor a very gen¬ 
ial man, I believe. I can do little to entertain 
you ; but here is the house and the grounds at 
your disposal, — horses in the stable, guns in 
the hall; here is Father Angelo, good at chess. 
There is the library. Pray make the most of 
them all; and if I can contribute in any way 
to your pleasure, let me know.'* 

All this certainly seemed cordial, and the 
manner in which it was said seemed in accord¬ 
ance with the spirit of the words; and yet, 
whether the fault was in anything of morbid 
suspicion in Redclyffe's nature, or whatever it 
was, it did not have the effect of making him 
feel welcome, which almost every Englishman 
has the natural faculty of producing on a guest, 
when once he has admitted him beneath his 
roof. It might be in great measure his face, 
so thin and refined, and intellectual without 
feeling ; his voice, which had melody, but not 
heartiness; his manners, which were not simple 
by nature, but by art;—whatever it was, Red- 
328 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


clyfFe found that Lord Braithwaite did not call 
for his own naturalness and simplicity, but his 
art, and felt that he was inevitably acting a part 
in his intercourse with him, that he was on his 
guard, playing a game ; and yet he did not wish 
to do this. But there was a mobility, a subtle¬ 
ness in his nature, an unconscious tact, — which 
the mode of life and of mixing with men in 
America fosters and perfects, — that made this 
sort of finesse inevitable to him, with any but 
a natural character; with whom, on the other 
hand, Redclyffe could be as fresh and natural as 
any Englishman of them all. 

Redclyffe spent the time between lunch and 
dinner in wandering about the grounds, from 
which he had hitherto felt himself debarred by 
motives of delicacy. It was a most interesting 
ramble to him, coming to trees which his ances¬ 
tor, who went to America, might have climbed 
in his boyhood, might have sat beneath, with 
his lady love, in his youth; deer there were, 
the descendants of those which he had seen ; old 
stone stiles, which his foot had trodden. The 
sombre, clouded light of the day fell down upon 
this scene, which, in its verdure, its luxuriance 
of vegetable life, was purely English, cultivated 
to the last extent without losing the nature out 
of a single thing. In the course of his walk 
he came to the spot where he had been so mys¬ 
teriously wounded on his first arrival in this 

329 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


region; and, examining the spot, he was startled 
to see that there was a path leading to the other 
side of a hedge, and this path, which led to the 
house, had brought him here. 

Musing upon this mysterious circumstance, 
and how it should have happened in so orderly 
a country as England, so tamed and subjected 
to civilization, — an incident to happen in an 
English park which seemed better suited to the 
Indian-haunted forests of the wilder parts of his 
own land, — and how no researches which the 
Warden had instituted had served in the small¬ 
est degree to develop the mystery, — he clam¬ 
bered over the hedge, and followed the foot¬ 
path. It plunged into dells, and emerged from 
them, led through scenes which seemed those 
of old romances, and at last, by these devious 
ways, began to approach the old house, which, 
with its many gray gables, put on a new aspect 
from this point, of view. Redclyffe admired its 
venerableness anew, the ivy that overran parts 
of it, the marks of age; and wondered at the 
firmness of the institutions which, through all 
the changes that come to man, could have kept 
this house the home of one lineal race for so 
many centuries, — so many, that the absence of 
his own branch from it seemed but a temporary 
visit to foreign parts, from which he was now 
returned, to be again at home, by the old 
hearthstone. 


330 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


“ But what do I mean to do ? ” said he to 
himself, stopping short, and still looking at the 
old house. Am I ready to give up all the 
actual life before me, for the sake of taking up 
with what I feel to be a less developed state of 
human life ? Would it not be better for me to 
depart now, to turn my back on this flattering 
prospect ? I am not fit to be here, — I, so 
strongly susceptible of a newer, more stirring 
life than these men lead ; I, who feel that, what¬ 
ever the thought and cultivation of England 
may be, my own countrymen have gone for¬ 
ward a long, long march beyond them, not in¬ 
tellectually, but in a way that gives them a 
further start. If I come back hither, with the 
purpose to make myself an Englishman, espe¬ 
cially an Englishman of rank and hereditary 
estate, then for me America has been discovered 
in vain, and the great spirit that has been breathed 
into us is in vain; and I am false to it ajl! 

But again came silently swelling over him 
like a flood all that ancient peace, and quietude, 
and dignity, which looked so stately and beau¬ 
tiful as brooding round the old house; all that 
blessed order of ranks, that sweet superiority, 
and yet with no disclaimer of common brother¬ 
hood, that existed between the English gentle¬ 
man and his inferiors; all that delightful inter¬ 
course, so sure of pleasure, so safe from rudeness, 
lowness, unpleasant rubs, that exists between 

331 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


gentleman and gentleman, where, in public af¬ 
fairs, all are essentially of one mind, or seem so 
to an American politician, accustomed to the 
fierce conflicts of our embittered parties ; where 
life was made so enticing, so refined, and yet 
with a sort of homeliness that seemed to show 
that all its strength was left behind ; that seem¬ 
ing taking in of all that was desirable in life, 
and all its grace and beauty, yet never giving 
life a hard enamel of over-refinement. What 
could there be in the wild, harsh, ill-conducted 
American approach to civilization, which could 
compare with this ? What to compare with 
this juiciness and richness ? What other men 
had ever got so much out of life as the polished 
and wealthy Englishmen of to-day ? What 
higher part was to be acted than seemed to lie 
before him, if he willed to accept it ? 

He resumed his walk, and, drawing near the 
manor house, found that he was approaching 
another entrance than that which had at first 
admitted him ; a very pleasant entrance it was, 
beneath a porch, of antique form, and ivy-clad, 
hospitable and inviting ; and it being the ap¬ 
proach from the grounds, it seemed to be more 
appropriate to the residents of the house than 
the other one. Drawing near, Redclyffe saw 
that a flight of steps ascended within the porch, 
old looking, much worn ; and nothing is more 
suggestive of long time than a flight of worn 

332 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


steps ; it must have taken so many soles, through 
so many years, to make an impression. Judg¬ 
ing from the make of the outside of the edifice, 
Redclyffe thought that he could make out the 
way from the porch to the hall and library; so 
he determined to enter this way. 

There had been, as was not unusual, a little 
shower of rain during the afternoon ; and as 
Redclyffe came close to the steps, they were 
glistening with the wet. The stones were whit¬ 
ish, like marble, and one of them bore on it a 
token that made him pause, while a thrill like 
terror ran through his system. For it was the 
mark of a footstep, very decidedly made out, 
and red, like blood, — the Bloody Footstep,— 
the mark of a foot, which seemed to have been 
slightly impressed into the rock, as if it had been 
a soft substance, at the same time sliding a little, 
and gushing with blood. The glistening mois¬ 
ture of which we have spoken made it appear as 
if it were just freshly stamped there ; and it sug¬ 
gested to Redclyffe's fancy the idea, that, im¬ 
pressed more than two centuries ago, there was 
some charm connected with the mark which kept 
it still fresh, and would continue to do so to the 
end of time. It was well that there was no 
spectator there, for the American would have 
blushed to have it known how much this old 
traditionary wonder had affected his imagination. 
But, indeed, it was as old as any bugbear of his 
333 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


mind, — as any of those bugbears and private 
terrors which grow up with people, and make 
the dreams and nightmares of childhood, and 
the fever images of mature years, till they haunt 
the deliriums of the dying bed, and after that, 
possibly, are either realized or known no more. 
The Doctor’s strange story vividly recurred to 
him, and all the horrors which he had since 
associated with this trace; and it seemed to him 
as if he had now struck upon a bloody track, 
and as if there were other tracks of this super¬ 
natural foot which he was bound to search out; 
removing the dust of ages that had settled on 
them, the moss and deep grass that had grown 
over them, the forest leaves that mdght have 
fallen on them in America, — marking out the 
pathway, till the pedestrian lay down in his 
grave. 

The foot was issuing from, not entering into, 
the house. Whoever had impressed it, or on 
whatever occasion, he had gone forth, and doubt¬ 
less to return no more. Redclylfe was impelled 
to place his own foot on the track ; and the 
action, as it were, suggested in itself strange 
ideas of what had been the state of mind of the 
man who planted it there ; and he felt a strange, 
vague, yet strong surmise of some agony, some 
terror and horror, that had passed here, and 
would not fade out of the spot. While he was 
in these musings, he saw Lord Braithwaite look- 
334 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


ing at him through the glass of the porch, with 
fixed, curious eyes, and a smile on his face. On 
perceiving that Redclyffe was aware of his pre¬ 
sence, he came forth without appearing in the 
least disturbed. 

‘‘ What think you of the Bloody Footstep ? ” 
asked he. 

“It seems to me, undoubtedly,” said Red¬ 
clyffe, stooping to examine it more closely, “ a 
good thing to make a legend out of; and, like 
most legendary lore, not capable of bearing close 
examination. I should decidedly say that the 
Bloody Footstep is a natural reddish stain in 
the stone.” 

“ Do you think so, indeed ? ” rejoined his 
Lordship. ‘‘ It may be ; but in that case, if not 
the record of an actual deed, — of a foot stamped 
down there in guilt and agony, and oozing out 
with unwipeupable blood, — we may consider 
it as prophetic ; — as foreboding, from the time 
when the stone was squared and smoothed, and 
laid at this threshold, that a fatal footstep was 
really to be impressed here.” 

‘‘ It is an ingenious supposition,” said Red¬ 
clyffe. But is there any sure knowledge that 
the prophecy you suppose has yet been ful¬ 
filled?” 

“If not, it might yet be in the future,” said 
Lord Braithwaite. “ But I think there are 
enough in the records of this family to prove 
335 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


that there did one cross this threshold in a bloody 
agony, who has since returned no more. Great 
seekings, I have understood, have been had 
throughout the world for him, or for any sign 
of him, but nothing satisfactory has been heard.” 

“ And it is now too late to expect it,” ob¬ 
served the American. 

Perhaps not,” replied the nobleman, with 
a glance that Redclyffe thought had peculiar 
meaning in it. “Ah ! it is very curious to see 
what turnings up there are in this world of old 
circumstances that seem buried forever; how 
things come back, like echoes that have rolled 
away among the hills and been seemingly hushed 
forever. We cannot tell when a thing is really 
dead ; it comes to life, perhaps in its old shape, 
perhaps in a new and unexpected one ; so that 
nothing really vanishes out of the world. I 
wish it did.” 

The conversation now ceased, and Redclyffe 
entered the house, where he amused himself for 
some time in looking at the ancient hall, with 
its gallery, its armor, and its antique fireplace, 
on the hearth of which burned a genial fire. 
He wondered whether in that fire was the con¬ 
tinuance of that custom which the Doctor's leg¬ 
end spoke of, and whether the flame had been 
kept up there two hundred years, in expectation 
of the wanderer's return. It might be so, al¬ 
though the climate of England made it a natural 

336 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


custom enough, in a large and damp old room, 
into which many doors opened, both from the 
exterior and interior of the mansion ; but it was 
pleasant to think the custom a traditionary one, 
and to fancy that a booted figure, enveloped in 
a cloak, might still arrive, and fling open the 
veiling cloak, throw off the sombre and droop- 
ing-brimmed hat, and show features that were 
similar to those seen in pictured faces on the 
walls. Was he himself—in another guise, as 
Lord Braithwaite had been saying — that long- 
expected one ? Was his the echoing tread that 
had been heard so long through the ages — so 
far through the wide world — approaching the 
blood-stained threshold ? 

With such thoughts, or dreams (for they were 
hardly sincerely enough entertained to be called 
thoughts), Redclyffe spent the day ; a strange, 
delicious day, in spite of the sombre shadows 
that enveloped it. He fancied himself strangely 
wonted, already, to the house, as if his every 
part and peculiarity had at once fitted into its 
nooks, and corners, and crannies ; but, indeed, 
his mobile nature and active fancy were not en¬ 
tirely to be trusted in this matter; it was, per¬ 
haps, his American faculty of making himself at 
home anywhere, that he mistook for the feeling 
of being peculiarly at home here. 

337 


CHAPTER XXIII 


R EDCLYFFE was now established in the 
great house which had been so long and 
so singularly an object of interest with 
him. With his customary impressibility by the 
influences around him, he begun to take in the 
circumstances, and to understand them by more 
subtile tokens than he could well explain to 
himself. There was the steward,^ or whatever 
was his precise office; so quiet, so subdued, so 
nervous, so strange ! What had been this man’s 
history ? What was now the secret of his daily 
life ? There he was, creeping stealthily up and 
down the staircases, and about the passages of 
the house ; always as if he were afraid of meet¬ 
ing somebody. On seeing Redclyffe in the 
house, the latter fancied that the man expressed 
a kind of interest in his face, but whether plea¬ 
sure or pain he could not well tell; only he 
sometimes found that he was contemplating him 
from a distance, or from the obscurity of the 
room in which he sat, or from a corridor, while 
he smoked his cigar on the lawn. A great part, 
if not the whole of this, he imputed to his 
knowledge of Redclyffe’s connections with the 
Doctor; but yet this hardly seemed sufficient 

338 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


to account for the pertinacity with which the old 
man haunted his footsteps, — the poor, nervous 
old thing, — always near him, or often unex¬ 
pectedly so ; and yet apparently not very will¬ 
ing to hold conversation with him, having no¬ 
thing of importance to say. 

‘‘ Mr. Omskirk,” said Redclylfe to him, a day 
or two after the commencement of his visit, 
how many years have you now been in this 
situation ? ” 

“ O, sir, ever since the Doctor's departure for 
America," said Omskirk, “ now thirty and five 
years, five months, and three days." 

‘‘ A long time," said Redclyffe, smiling, ‘‘ and 
you seem to keep the account of it very accu¬ 
rately." 

A very long time, your honor," said Oms¬ 
kirk ; so long, that I seem to have lived one 
life before it began, and I cannot think of any 
life than just what I had. My life was broken 
off short in the midst, and what belonged to the 
earlier part of it was another man's life ; this is 
mine." 

“ It might be a pleasant life enough, I should 
think, in this fine old Hall," said Redclyffe ; 

rather monotonous, however. Would you not 
like a relaxation of a few days, a pleasure trip, 
in all these thirty-five years ? You old English¬ 
men are so sturdily faithful to one thing. You 
do not resemble my countrymen in that." 

339 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


‘‘ O, none of them ever lived in an old man¬ 
sion house like this/' replied Omskirk; they 
do not know the sort of habits that a man gets 
here. They do not know my business either, 
nor any man's here." 

“ Is your master, then, so difficult ^ " said 
Redclyffe. 

My master ! Who was speaking of him ? " 
said the old man, as if surprised. “ Ah, I was 
thinking of Doctor Grimshawe. He was my 
master, you know." 

And Redclyffe was again inconceivably struck 
with the strength of the impression that was 
made on the poor old man's mind by the char¬ 
acter of the old Doctor; so that, after thirty 
years of other service, he still felt him to be the 
master, and could not in the least release him¬ 
self from those earlier bonds. He remembered 
a story that the Doctor used to tell of his once 
recovering a hanged person, and more and more 
came to the conclusion that this was the man ; 
and that, as the Doctor had said, this hold of a 
strong mind over a weak one, strengthened by 
the idea that he had made him, had subjected 
the man to him in a kind of slavery that em¬ 
braced the soul. 

And then, again, the lord of the estate inter¬ 
ested him greatly, and not unpleasantly. He 
compared what he seemed to be now with what, 
according to all reports, he had been in the past, 
340 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

and could make nothing of it, nor reconcile the 
two characters in the least. It seemed as if the 
estate were possessed by a devil, — a foul and 
melancholy fiend, — who resented the attempted 
possession of others by subjecting them to him¬ 
self. One had turned from quiet and sober hab¬ 
its to reckless dissipation; another had turned 
from the usual gayety of life to recluse habits, 
— and both, apparently, by the same influence ; 
at least, so it appeared to Redclyffe, as he insu¬ 
lated their story from all other circumstances, 
and looked at them by one light. He even 
thought that he felt a similar influence coming 
over himself, even in this little time that he had 
spent here; gradually, should this be his per¬ 
manent residence, — and not so very gradually 
either, — there would come its own individual 
mode of change over him. That quick sugges¬ 
tive mind would gather the moss and lichens of 
decay. Palsy of its powers would probably be 
the form it would assume. He looked back 
through the vanished years to the time which he 
had spent with the old Doctor, and he felt un¬ 
accountably as if the mysterious old man were yet 
ruling him, as he did in his boyhood; as if his 
inscrutable, inevitable eye were upon him in all 
his movements; nay, as if he had guided every 
step that he took in coming hither, and were 
stalking mistily before him, leading him about. 
He sometimes would gladly have given up all 

341 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

these wild and enticing prospects, these dreams 
that had occupied him so long, if he could only 
have gone away and looked back upon the house, 
its inmates, and his own recollections no more; 
but there came a fate, and took the shape of the 
old Doctor's apparition, holding him back. 

And then, too, the thought of Elsie had much 
influence in keeping him quietly here ; her nat¬ 
ural sunshine was the one thing that, just now, 
seemed to have a good influence upon the world. 
She, too, was evidently connected with this place, 
and with the fate, whatever it might be, that 
awaited him here. The Doctor, the ruler of his 
destiny, had provided her as well as all the rest; 
and from his grave, or wherever he was, he still 
seemed to bring them together. 

So here, in this darkened dream, he waited 
for what should come to pass ; and daily, when 
he sat down in the dark old library, it was with 
the thought that this day might bring to a close 
the doubt amid which he lived, — might give 
him the impetus to go forward. In such a state, 
no doubt, the witchcraft of the place was really 
to be recognized; the old witchcraft, too, of the 
Doctor, which he had escaped by the quick 
ebullition of youthful spirit, long ago, while the 
Doctor lived, but which had been stored up till 
now, till an influence that remained latent for 
years had worked out in active disease. He 
held himself open for intercourse with the lord 
342 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


of the mansion; and intercourse of a certain 
nature they certainly had, but not of the kind 
which Redclylfe desired. They talked together 
of politics, of the state of the relations between 
England and America, of the court to which 
Redclyffe was accredited: sometimes Redclyffe 
tried to lead the conversation to the family topics; 
nor, in truth, did Lord Braithwaite seem to de¬ 
cline his lead, although it was observable that 
very speedily the conversation would be found 
turned upon some other subject, to which it had 
swerved aside by subtle underhand movements. 
Yet Redclyffe was not the less determined, and 
at no distant period, to bring up the subject on 
which his mind dwelt so much, and have it fairly 
discussed between them. 

He was sometimes a little frightened at the 
position and circumstances in which he found 
himself; a great disturbance there was in his be¬ 
ing, the causes of which he could not trace. It 
had an influence on his dreams, through which 
the Doctor seemed to pass continually; and 
when he awoke it was often with the sensation 
that he had just the moment before been hold¬ 
ing conversation with the old man, and that the 
latter — with that gesture of power that he re¬ 
membered so well — had been impressing some 
command upon him; but what that command 
was, he could not possibly call to mind. He 
wandered among the dark passages of the house, 
343 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


and up its antique staircases, as if expecting at 
every turn to meet some one who would have 
the word of destiny to say to him. When he 
went forth into the park, it was as if to hold an 
appointment with one who had promised to meet 
him there; and he came slowly back, lingering 
and loitering, because this expected one had 
not yet made himself visible, yet plucked up a 
little alacrity as he drew near the house, because 
the communicant might have arrived in his ab¬ 
sence, and be waiting for him in the dim library. 
It seemed as if he was under a spell; he could 
neither go away nor rest, — nothing but dreams, 
troubled dreams. He had ghostly fears, as if 
some one were near him whom he could not make 
out; stealing behind him, and starting away 
when he was impelled to turn round. A ner¬ 
vousness that his healthy temperament had never 
before permitted him to be the victim of, assailed 
him now. He jcould not help imputing it partly 
to the influence of the generations who had left 
a portion of their individual human nature in 
the house, which had become magnetic by them 
and could not rid itself of their presence, in one 
sense; though, in another, they had borne it as 
far off as to where the gray tower of the village 
church rose above their remains. 

Again, he was frightened to perceive what a 
hold the place was getting upon him; how the ten¬ 
drils of the ivy seemed to hold him and would 
344 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 

not let him go ; how natural and homelike (grim 
and sombre as they were) the old doorways and 
apartments were becoming; how in no place 
that he had ever known had he had such a home¬ 
like feeling. To be sure, poor fellow, he had 
no earlier home except the almshouse, where his 
recollection of a fireside crowded by grim old 
women and pale, sickly children of course never 
allowed him to have the reminiscences of a pri¬ 
vate, domestic home. But then there was the 
Doctor's home by the graveyard, and little Elsie, 
his constant playmate? No, even those recol¬ 
lections did not hold him like this heavy present 
circumstance. How should he ever draw him¬ 
self away ? No ; the proud and vivid and active 
prospects that had heretofore spread themselves 
before him, — the striving to conquer, the strug¬ 
gle, the victory, the defeat, if such it was to be, 
— the experiences for good or ill, — the life, life, 
life, — all possibility of these was passing from 
him, all that hearty earnest contest or commun¬ 
ion of man with man, and leaving him nothing 
but this great sombre shade, this brooding of the 
old family mansion, with its dreary ancestral hall, 
its mouldy dignity, its life of the past, its fetter¬ 
ing honor, which to accept must bind him hand 
and foot, as respects all effort, such as he had 
trained himself for, — such as his own country 
offered. It was not any value for these,—as 
it seemed to Reddyffe, — but a witchcraft, an 
345 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


indefinable spell, a something that he could not 
define, that enthralled him, and was now doing 
a work on him analogous to, though different 
from, that which was wrought on Omskirk and 
all the other inhabitants, high and low, of this 
old mansion. 

He felt greatly interested in the master of 
the mansion ; although perhaps it was not from 
anything in his nature, but partly because he 
conceived that he himself had a controlling 
power over his fortunes, and likewise from the 
vague perception of this before-mentioned trou¬ 
ble in him. It seemed, whatever it might be, 
to have converted an ordinary superficial man 
of the world into a being that felt and suffered 
inwardly, had pangs, fears, a conscience, a sense 
of unseen things. It seemed as if underneath 
this manor house were the entrance to the cave 
of Trophonius, one visit to which made a man 
sad forever after; and that Lord Braithwaite 
had been there once, or perhaps went nightly, 
or at any hour. Or the mansion itself was like 
dark-colored experience, the reality; the point 
of view where things were seen in their true 
lights ; the true world, all outside of which was 
delusion, and here — dreamlike as its structures 
seemed — the absolute truth. All those that 
lived in it were getting to be a brotherhood, 
and he among them; and perhaps before the 
blood-stained threshold would grow up an im- 
346 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


passable barrier, which would cause himself to 
sit down in dreary quiet, like the rest of them. 

Redclyffe, as has been intimated, had an 
unavowed — unavowed to himself — suspicion 
that the master of the house cherished no kindly 
purpose towards him ; he had an indistinct feel¬ 
ing of danger from him; he would not have 
been surprised to know that he was concocting 
a plot against his life; and yet he did not think 
that Lord Braithwaite- had the slightest hostil¬ 
ity towards him. It might make the thing more 
horrible, perhaps ; but it has been often seen in 
those who poison for the sake of interest, with¬ 
out feelings of personal malevolence, that they 
do it as kindly as the nature of the thing will 
permit; they, possibly, may even have a certain 
degree of affection for their victims, enough to 
induce them to make the last hours of life sweet 
and pleasant; to wind up the fever of life with 
a double supply of enjoyable throbs; to sweeten 
and delicately flavor the cup of death that they 
offer to the lips of him whose life is inconsist¬ 
ent with some stated necessity of their own. 

Dear friend,” such a one might say to the 
friend whom he reluctantly condemned to death, 
“ think not that there is any base malice, any 
desire of pain to thee, that actuates me in this 
thing. Heaven knows, I earnestly wish thy 
good. But I have well considered the matter, 
— more deeply than thou hast, — and have 
347 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

found that it is essential that one thing should 
be, and essential to that thing that thou, my 
friend, shouldst die. Is that a doom which 
even thou wouldst object to with such an end 
to be answered ? Thou art innocent; thou art 
not a man of evil life; the worst thing that can 
come of it, so far as thou art concerned, would 
be a quiet, endless repose in yonder churchyard, 
among dust of thy ancestry, with the English 
violets growing over thee there, and the green, 
sweet grass, which thou wilt not scorn to asso¬ 
ciate with thy dissolving elements, remember¬ 
ing that thy forefather owed a debt, for his own 
birth and growth, to this English soil, and paid 
it not, — consigned himself to that rough soil 
of another clime, under the forest leaves. Pay 
it, dear friend, without repining, and leave me 
to battle a little longer with this troublesome 
world, and in a few years to rejoin thee, and 
talk quietly over this matter which we are now 
arranging. How slight a favor, then, for one 
friend to do another, will seem this that I seek 
of thee! ” 

Reddy ffe smiled to himself, as he thus gave 
expression to what he really half fancied were 
Lord Braithwaite's feelings and purposes to¬ 
wards him; and he felt them in the kindness 
and sweetness of his demeanor, and his evident 
wish to make him happy, combined with his own 
subtile suspicion of some design with which he 
348 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


had been invited here, or which had grown up 
since he came. 

Whoever has read Italian history must have 
seen such instances of this poisoning without 
malice or personal ill feeling. 

His own pleasant, companionable, perhaps 
noble traits and qualities may have made a 
favorable impression on Lord Braithwaite, and 
perhaps he regretted the necessity of acting as 
he was about to do, but could not therefore 
weakly relinquish his deliberately formed design. 
And, on his part, Redclyffe bore no malice to¬ 
wards Lord Braithwaite, but felt really a kindly 
interest in him, and could he have made him 
happy at any less cost than his own life or 
dearest interests, would perhaps have been glad 
to do so. He sometimes felt inclined to re¬ 
monstrate with him in a friendly way; to tell 
him that his intended course was not likely to 
lead to a good result; that they had better try 
to arrange the matter on some other basis, and 
perhaps he would not find the American so 
unreasonable as he supposed. 

All this, it will be understood, was the mere 
dreamy supposition of Redclyffe, in the idle¬ 
ness and languor of the old mansion, letting his 
mind run at will, and following it into dim 
caves, whither it tended. He did not actually 
believe anything of all this; unless it be a 
lawyer, or a policeman, or some very vulgar 
349 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 


natural order of mind, no man really suspects 
another of crime. It is the hardest thing in the 
world for a noble nature — the hardest and the 
most shocking — to be convinced that a fellow 
being is going to do a wrong thing, and the 
consciousness of one's own inviolability renders 
it still more difficult to believe that one's self 
is to be the object of the wrong. What he had 
been fancying looked to him like a romance. 
The strange part of the matter was, what sug¬ 
gested such a romance in regard to his kind 
and hospitable host, who seemed to exercise the 
hospitality of England with a kind of refine¬ 
ment and pleasant piquancy that came from his 
Italian mixture of blood? Was there no spir¬ 
itual whisper here? 

So the time wore on ; and Redclyffe began to 
be sensible that he must soon decide upon the 
course that he was to take; for his diplomatic 
position waited for him, and he could not loiter 
many days more away in this half-delicious, half¬ 
painful reverie and quiet in the midst of his 
struggling life. He was yet as undetermined 
what to do as ever; or, if we may come down 
to the truth, he was perhaps loath to acknow¬ 
ledge to himself the determination that he had 
actually formed. 

One day, at dinner, which now came on after 
candlelight, he and Lord Braithwaite sat to- 
350 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 

gether at table, as usual, while Omskirk waited 
at the sideboard. It was a wild, gusty night, 
in which an autumnal breeze of later autumn 
seemed to have gone astray, and come into 
September intrusively. The two friends — for 
such we may call them — had spent a pleasant 
day together, wandering in the grounds, look¬ 
ing at the old house at all points, going to the 
church, and examining the cross-legged stone 
statues ; they had ridden, too, and taken a great 
deal of healthful exercise, and had now that 
pleasant sense of just weariness enough which it 
is the boon of the climate of England to incite 
and permit men to take. Redclyffe was in one 
of his most genial moods, and Lord Braithwaite 
seemed to be the same ; so kindly they were 
both disposed to one another, that the American 
felt that he might not longer refrain from giv¬ 
ing his friend some light upon the character in 
which he appeared, or in which, at least, he had 
it at his option to appear. Lord Braithwaite 
might or might not know it already; but at all 
events it was his duty to tell him, or to take his 
leave, having thus far neither gained nor sought 
anything from their connection which would 
tend to forward his pursuit — should he decide 
to undertake it. 

When the cheerful fire, the rare wine, and the 
good fare had put them both into a good phy- 

351 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


sical state, RedclyfFe said to Lord Braithwaite, 
There is a matter upon which I have been 
some time intending to speak to you.” 

Braithwaite nodded. 

‘‘ A subject,” continued he, “ of interest to 
both of us. Has it ever occurred to you, from 
the identity of name, that I may be really, what 
we have jokingly assumed me to be, — a rela¬ 
tion ? ” 

“It has,” said Lord Braithwaite readily 
enough. “ The family would be proud to ac¬ 
knowledge such a kinsman, whose abilities and 
political rank would add a public lustre that it 
has long wanted.” 

Redclyffe bowed and smiled. 

“You know, I suppose, the annals of your 
house,” he continued, “and have heard how, 
two centuries ago, or somewhat less, there was 
an ancestor who mysteriously disappeared. He 
was never seen again. There were tales of pri¬ 
vate murder, out of which a hundred legends 
have come down to these days, as I have my¬ 
self found, though most of them in so strange 
a shape that I should hardly know them, had I 
not myself a clue.” 

“ I have heard some of these legends,” said 
Lord Braithwaite. 

“ But did you ever hear, among them,” asked 
Redclyffe, “ that the lost ancestor did not really 
die, — was not murdered, — but lived long, 
352 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 

though in another hemisphere, — lived long, 
and left heirs behind him ? 

“ There is such a legend,” said Lord Braith- 
waite. 

“ Left posterity,” continued Redclyffe, — a 
representative of whom is alive at this day.” 

‘‘That I have not known, though I might 
conjecture something like it,” said Braithwaite. 

The coolness with which he took this per¬ 
plexed Redclyffe. He resolved to make trial at 
once whether it were possible to move him. 

“ And I have reason to believe,” he added, 
“ that that representative is myself.” 

“ Should that prove to be the case, you are 
welcome back to your own,” said Lord Braith¬ 
waite quietly. “It will be a very remarkable 
case, if the proofs for two hundred years, or 
thereabouts, can be so distinctly made out as to 
nullify the claim of one whose descent is un¬ 
doubted. Yet it is certainly not impossible. 
I suppose it would hardly be fair in me to ask 
what are your proofs, and whether I may see 
them? ” 

“ The documents are in the hands of my 
agents in London,” replied Redclyffe, “ and 
seem to be ample; among them being a certified 
genealogy from the first emigrant downward, 
without a break. A declaration of two men of 
note among the first settlers, certifying that they 
knew the first emigrant, under a change of 
353 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 


name, to be the eldest son of the house of 
Braithwaite ; full proofs, at least on that head.” 

You are a lawyer, I believe,” said Braith¬ 
waite, and know better than I what may be 
necessary to prove your claim. I will frankly 
own to you, that I have heard, long ago, — as 
long as when my connection with this heredi¬ 
tary property first began, — that there was sup¬ 
posed to be an heir extant for a long course of 
years, and that there was no proof that that 
main line of the descent had ever become ex¬ 
tinct. If these things had come fairly before me, 
and been represented to me with whatever force 
belongs to them, before my accession to the es¬ 
tate, — these and other facts which I have since 
become acquainted with, — I might have delib¬ 
erated on the expediency of coming to such a 
doubtful possession. The property, I assure 
you, is not so desirable that, taking all things 
into consideration, it has much increased my 
happiness. But, now, here I am, having paid 
a price in a certain way, — which you will un¬ 
derstand, if you ever come into the property, 
— a price of a nature that cannot possibly be 
refunded. It can hardly be presumed that I 
shall see your right a moment sooner than you 
make it manifest by law.” 

“ I neither expect nor wish it,” replied Red- 
clyffe, “ nor, to speak frankly, am I quite sure 
that you will ever have occasion to defend your 
354 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


title, or to question mine. When I came hither, 
to be your guest, it was almost with the settled 
purpose never to mention my proofs, nor to 
seek to make them manifest. That purpose is 
not, I may say, yet relinquished.” 

“Yet I am to infer from your words that it 
is shaken ? ” said Braithwaite. “ You find the 
estate, then, so delightful, — this life of the old 
manor house so exquisitely agreeable, — this air 
so cheering, — this moral atmosphere so invig¬ 
orating, — that your scruples are about coming 
to an end. You think this life of an English¬ 
man, this fair prospect of a title, so irresistibly 
enticing as to be worth more than your claim, 
in behalf of your American birthright, to a pos¬ 
sible Presidency.” 

There was a sort of sneer in this, which Red- 
clyffe did not well know how to understand; 
and there was a look on Braithwaite’s face, as 
he said it, that made him think of a condemned 
soul, who should be dressed in magnificent 
robes, and surrounded with the mockery of 
state, splendor, and happiness, who, if he should 
be congratulated on his fortunate and blissful 
situation, would probably wear just such a look, 
and speak in just that tone. He looked a 
moment in Braithwaite’s face. 

“No,” he replied. ‘‘I do not think that 
there is much happiness in it. A brighter, 
healthier, more useful, far more satisfactory, 
355 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


though tumultuous life would await me in my 
own country. But there is about this place a 
strange, deep, sad, brooding interest, which pos¬ 
sesses me, and draws me to it, and will not let 
me go. I feel as if, in spite of myself and my 
most earnest efforts, I were fascinated by some¬ 
thing in the spot, and must needs linger here, 
and make it my home if I can.” 

“ You shall be welcome ; the old hereditary 
chair will be filled at last,” said Braithwaite, 
pointing to the vacant chair. Come, we will 
drink to you in a cup of welcome. Take the 
old chair now.” 

In half frolic Reddyffe took the chair. 

Braithwaite called to Omskirk to bring a bot¬ 
tle of a particularly exquisite Italian wine, known 
only to the most deeply skilled in the vintages 
of that country, and which, he said, was oftener 
heard of than seen, — oftener seen than tasted. 
Omskirk put it on the table in its original glass, 
and Braithwaite filled ReddyIfe’s glass and his 
own, and raised the latter to his lips, with a 
frank expression of his mobile countenance. 

May you have a secure possession of your 
estate,” said he, and live long in the midst of 
your possessions. To me, on the whole, it 
seems better than your American prospects.” 

Reddyffe thanked him, and drank off the 
glass of wine, which was not very much to his 
taste; as new varieties of wine are apt not to 
356 


e'- 


V 



N 



♦ ^ 


* , f 

I 


' 


• 1 


W 


1 


t 


t 


f 




I 


4 




i 


I 


i 


.% 
, • 

I. • 



i 




I 

7 ;^ half frolic Redclyffe took the chair 




\ 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWir/S SECRET 

though fAimultuous life would await ;Tie in 
o\vn country. But there is about this 
strange, deep, sad, brooding interest, which po^ 
sesser in^ and d^*:w'$ me ro it, and will not let 
me. gn. 1. feel as if* in spue of myself and my 
mo»t c'lr jcan f were fkscinafedi>y some-; 

th.'r.g Wi the spot, kiid must needs lirger here, 
aiui make it my home if 1 can.*' 

You shall be welcome ; the old hereditary 
chair will be filled at last,” said Braithwaite, 
pointing to the vacant chair. “ Come, we v II 
drink to you in a cup of welcome. Take the 
old chair now.” ' ^ 

In lialf frolic Reddyde took the chair. _ ^ 
Braithwa??e r.ullcil to OmskirVr to bringabot- 
vh a parT'uUHy {t.iiat- 

or '7 dticpb' '*K '■ , '’e 

cjf fthsf* '■ ^ 

of ^ ^ i ! 

Omskirk putjrot cabiY ;r. jt> sjriginA} 

and Bnithwaite filled Reddytfe’s glass 
own, an4 raised the hotter to his lips. a 
frank expression of his mobile countenance, 't* 
May you have a secure possession of your 
estate,” said he, “ and live long in the midst of 
your pHTsbCssions. To me, oh the whole, it 
seems better than your American prospects.” <i 
RedclyfTc thanked him, and drank oft the 
much to 

♦:aste; as new varieties of win .* are api not to 
35^ 
















!rj> 


J 
















DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

be. All the conversation that had passed had 
been in a free, careless sort of way, without ap¬ 
parently much earnestness in it; for they were 
both men who knew how to keep their more 
serious parts within them. But Redclyffe was 
glad that the explanation was over, and that he 
might now remain at Braithwaite’s table, under 
his roof, without that uneasy feeling of treachery 
which, whether rightly or not, had haunted him 
hitherto. He felt joyous, and stretched his 
hand out for the bottle which Braithwaite kept 
near himself, instead of passing it. 

You do not yourself do justice to your own 
favorite wine,’* observed Redclyffe, seeing his 
host’s full glass standing before him. 

“ I have filled again,” said Braithwaite care¬ 
lessly ; ‘‘ but I know not that I shall venture 
to drink a second glass. It is a wine that does 
not bear mixture with other vintages, though 
of most genial and admirable qualities when 
taken by itself. Drink your own, however, 
for it will be a rare occasion indeed that would 
induce me to offer you another bottle of this 
rare stock.” 

Redclyffe sipped his second glass, endeavor¬ 
ing to find out what was this subtile and pecul¬ 
iar flavor that hid itself so, and yet seemed on 
the point of revealing itself. It had, he thought, 
a singular effect upon his faculties, quickening 
and making them active, and causing him to 
357 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


feel as if he were on the point of penetrating 
rare mysteries, such as men's thoughts are 
always hovering round, and always returning 
from. Some strange, vast, sombre, mysterious 
truth, which he seemed to have searched for 
long, appeared to be on the point of being re¬ 
vealed to him; a sense of something to come, 
something to happen that had been waiting 
long, long to happen; an opening of doors, a 
drawing away of veils ; a lifting of heavy, mag¬ 
nificent curtains, whose dark folds hung before 
a spectacle of awe; — it was like the verge of 
the grave. Whether it was the exquisite wine 
of Braithwaite, or whatever it might be, the 
American felt a strange influence upon him, as 
if he were passing through the gates of eternity, 
and finding on the other side the revelation of 
Some secret that had greatly perplexed him on 
this side. He thought that Braithwaite's face 
assumed a strange, subtile smile, — not mali¬ 
cious, yet crafty, triumphant, and at the same 
time terribly sad; and with that perception his 
senses, his life, welled away, and left him in 
the deep ancestral chair at the board of Braith¬ 
waite. 


358 


CHAPTER XXIV 


W HEN awake/ or beginning to awake, 
he lay for some time in a maze; not 
a disagreeable one, but thoughts were 
running to and fro in his mind, all mixed and 
jumbled together. Reminiscences of early days, 
even those that were Preadamite ; referring, we 
mean, to those times in the almshouse, which 
he could not at ordinary times remember at all; 
but now there seemed to be visions of old wo¬ 
men and men, and pallid girls, and little dirty 
boys, which could only be referred to that epoch. 
Also, and most vividly, there was the old Doc¬ 
tor, with his sternness, his fierceness, his mys¬ 
tery ; and all that happened since, playing phan¬ 
tasmagoria before his yet unclosed eyes ; nor, 
so mysterious was his state, did he know, when 
he should unclose those lids, where he should 
find himself. He was content to let the world 
go on in this way, as long as it would, and 
therefore did not hurry, but rather kept back 
the proofs of awakening; willing to look at the 
scenes that were unrolling for his amusement, 
as it seemed ; and willing, too, to keep it uncer¬ 
tain whether he were not back in America, and 
in his boyhood, and all other subsequent im- 
359 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


pressions a dream or a prophetic vision. But 
at length something stirring near him, — or 
whether it stirred, or whether he dreamed it, he 
could not quite tell, — but the uncertainty im¬ 
pelled him, at last, to open his eyes, and see 
whereabouts he was. 

Even then he continued in as much uncer¬ 
tainty as he was before, and lay with marvellous 
quietude in it, trying sluggishly to make the 
mystery out. It was in a dim, twilight place, 
wherever it might be ; a place of half-awakeness, 
where the outlines of things were not well de¬ 
fined ; but it seemed to be a chamber, antique 
and vaulted, narrow and high, hung round with 
old tapestry. Whether it were morning or mid¬ 
day he could not tell, such was the character of 
the light, nor even where it came from ; for there 
appeared to be no windows, and yet it was not 
apparently artificial light, — nor light at all, in¬ 
deed, but a gray dimness. It was so like his 
own half-awake state that he lay in it a longer 
time, not incited to finish his awaking, but in a 
languor, not disagreeable, yet hanging heavily, 
heavily upon him, like a dark pall. It was, in 
fact, as if he had been asleep for years, or cen¬ 
turies, or till the last day was dawning, and then 
was collecting his thoughts in such slow fashion 
as would then be likely. 

Again that noise, — a little, low, quiet sound, 
as of one breathing somewhere near him. The 
360 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

whole thing was very much like that incident 
which introduced him to the Hospital, and his 
first coming to his senses there; and he almost 
fancied that some such accident must again have 
happened to him, and that when his sight cleared 
he should again behold the venerable figure of 
the pensioner. With this idea he let his head 
steady itself; and it seemed to him that its diz¬ 
ziness must needs be the result of very long and 
deep sleep. What if it were the sleep of a cen¬ 
tury ? What if all things that were extant when 
he went to sleep had passed away, and he was 
waking now in another epoch of time ? Where 
was America, and the republic in which he hoped 
for such great things? Where England? had 
she stood it better than the republic ? Was the 
old Hospital still in being,— although the good 
Warden must long since have passed out of his 
warm and pleasant life ? And himself, how came 
he to be preserved ? In what musty old nook 
had he been put away, where Time neglected 
and Death forgot him, until now he was to get 
up friendless, helpless, — when new heirs had 
come to the estate he was on the point of lay¬ 
ing claim to, — and go onward through what 
remained of life ? Would it not have been better 
to have lived with his contemporaries, and to 
be now dead and dust with them ? Poor, petty 
interests of a day, how slight! 

Again the noise, — a little stir, a sort of quiet 
361 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

moan, or something that he could not quite de¬ 
fine ; but it seemed, whenever he heard it, as if 
some fact thrust itself through the dream-work 
with which he was circumfused ; something alien 
to his fantasies, yet not powerful enough to dis¬ 
pel them. It began to be irksome to him, this 
little sound of something near him ; and he 
thought, in the space of another hundred years, 
if it continued, he should have to arouse him¬ 
self and see what it was. But, indeed, there was 
something so cheering in this long repose, — 
this rest from all the troubles of earth, which it 
sometimes seems as if only a churchyard bed 
would give us, — that he wished the noise would 
let him alone. But his thoughts were gradually 
getting too busy for this slumberous state. He 
begun, perforce, to come nearer actuality. The 
strange question occurred to him. Had any time 
at allpassed ? Was he not still sitting at Lord 
Braithwaite’s table, having just now quaffed a 
second glass of that rare and curious Italian 
wine ? Was it not affecting his head very 
strangely, — so that he was put out of time, as 
it were? He would rally himself, and try to 
set his head right with another glass. He must 
be still at table, for now he remembered he had 
not gone to bed at all.^ 

Ah, the noise! He could not bear it; he 
would awake now, now ! — silence it, and then 
to sleep again. In fact, he started up ; started 
362 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


to his feet, in puzzle and perplexity, and stood 
gazing around him, with swimming brain. It 
was an antique room, which he did not at all 
recognize, and, indeed, in that dim twilight — 
which how it came he could not tell — he could 
scarcely discern what were its distinguishing 
marks. But he seemed to be sensible, that, in 
a high-backed chair, at a little distance from 
him, sat a figure in a long robe ; a figure of a 
man with snow-white hair and a long beard, who 
seemed to be gazing at him quietly, as if he had 
been gazing a hundred years. I know not what 
it was, but there was an influence as if this old 
man belonged to some other age and category 
of man than he was now amongst. He remem¬ 
bered the old family legend of the existence of 
an ancestor two or three centuries in age. 

‘Ht is the old family personified,'* thought 
he. 

The old figure made no sign, but continued 
to sit gazing at him in so strangely still a man¬ 
ner that it made Redclyffe shiver with some¬ 
thing that seemed like affright. There was an 
aspect of long, long time about him ; as if he 
had never been young, or so long ago as when 
the world was young along with him. He 
might be the demon of this old house; the re¬ 
presentative of all that happened in it, the grief, 
the long languor and weariness of life, the deaths, 
gathering them all into himself, and figuring 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


them in furrows, wrinkles, and white hairs, — a 
being that might have been young, when those 
old Saxon timbers were put together, with the 
oaks that were saplings when Caesar landed, and 
was in his maturity when the Conqueror came, 
and was now lapsing into extreme age when the 
nineteenth century was elderly. His garb might 
have been of any time, that long, loose robe 
that enveloped him. Redclyffe remained in 
this way, gazing at this aged figure; at first 
without the least wonder, but calmly, as we feel 
in dreams, when, being in a land of enchant¬ 
ment, we take everything as if it were a matter 
of course, and feel, by the right of our own 
marvellous nature, on terms of equal kindred 
with all other marvels. So it was with him 
when he first became aware of the old man, sit¬ 
ting there with that age-long regard directed 
towards him. 

But, by degrees, a sense of wonder had its 
will, and grew, slowly at first, in Redclyffe^s 
mind; and almost twin-born with it, and grow¬ 
ing piece by piece, there was a sense of awful 
fear, as his waking senses came slowly back to 
him. In the dreamy state, he had felt no fear; 
but, as a waking man, it was fearful to discover 
that the shadowy forms did not fly from his 
awaking eyes. He started at last to his feet 
from the low couch on which he had all this 
time been lying. 


364 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

‘‘ What are you ? ” he exclaimed. Where 
am I ? 

The old figure made no answer; nor could 
ReddyfFe be quite sure that his voice had any 
effect upon it, though he fancied that it was 
shaken a little, as if his voice came to it from 
afar. But it continued to gaze at him, or at 
least to have its aged face turned towards him 
in the dim light; and this strange composure 
and unapproachableness were very frightful. 
As his manhood gathered about his heart, how¬ 
ever, the American endeavored to shake off 
this besetting fear, or awe, or whatever it was, 
and to bring himself to a sense of waking things, 
— to burst through the mist and delusive shows 
that bewildered him, and catch hold of a reality. 
He stamped upon the floor ; it was solid stone, 
the pavement, or oak so old and stanch that it 
resembled it. There was one firm thing, there¬ 
fore. But the contrast between this and the 
slipperiness, the unaccountableness, of the rest 
of his position, made him the more sensible of 
the latter. He made a step towards the old fig¬ 
ure ; another; another. He was face to face 
with him, within a yard of distance. He saw 
the faint movement of the old man’s breath ; he 
sought, through the twilight of the room, some 
glimmer of perception in his eyes. 

Are you a living man ? ” asked Redclyffe 
faintly and doubtfully. 

365 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


He mumbled, the old figure, some faint 
moaning sound, that, if it were language at all, 
had all the edges and angles worn off it by- 
decay, — unintelligible, except that it seemed to 
signify a faint mournfulness and complaining- 
ness of mood ; and then held his peace, contin¬ 
uing to gaze as before. Reddyffe could not 
bear the awe that filled him, while he kept at a 
distance, and, coming desperately forward, he 
stood close to the old figure ; he touched his 
robe, to see if it were real; he laid his hand 
upon the withered hand that held the staff, in 
which he now recognized the very staff of the 
Doctor’s legend. His fingers touched a real 
hand, though bony and dry as if it had been in 
the grave. 

‘‘ Then you are real ? ” said Redclyffe doubt¬ 
fully. 

The old figure seemed to have exhausted it¬ 
self — its energies, what there were of them — 
in the effort of making the unintelligible commu¬ 
nication already vouchsafed. Then he seemed 
to lapse out of consciousness, and not to know 
what was passing, or to be sensible that any per¬ 
son was near him. But Redclyffe was now re¬ 
suming his firmness and daylight consciousness 
even in the dimness. He ran over all that he 
had heard of the legend of the old house, rap¬ 
idly considering whether there might not be 
something of fact in the legend of the undying 
366 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


old man ; whether, as told or whispered in the 
chimney corners, it might not be an instance of 
the mysterious, the half-spiritual mode in which 
actual truths communicate themselves imper¬ 
fectly through a medium that gives them the 
aspect of falsehood. Something in the atmo¬ 
sphere of the house made its inhabitants and 
neighbors dimly aware that there was a secret 
resident; it was by a language not audible, but 
of impression ; there could not be such a secret 
in its recesses without making itself sensible. 
This legend of the undying one translated it to 
vulgar apprehension. He remembered those 
early legends, told by the Doctor, in his child¬ 
hood ; he seemed imperfectly and doubtfully 
to see what was their true meaning, and how, 
taken aright, they had a reality, and were the 
craftily concealed history of his own wrongs, 
sufferings, and revenge. And this old man ! 
who was he? He joined the Warden’s account 
of the family to the Doctor’s legends. He 
could not believe, or take thoroughly in, the 
strange surmise to which they led him ; but, by 
an irresistible impulse, he acted on it. 

Sir Edward Redclyffe ! ” he exclaimed. 

Ha! who speaks to me ? ” exclaimed the 
old man, in a startled voice, like one who hears 
himself called at an unexpected moment. 

“ Sir Edward Redclyffe,” repeated Redclyffe, 
“I bring you news of Norman Oglethorpe !”^ 

367 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

‘‘ The villain ! the tyrant ! mercy ! mercy ! 
save me! cried the old man, in most violent 
emotion of terror and rage intermixed, that 
shook his old frame as if it would be shaken 
asunder. He stood erect, the picture of ghastly 
horror, as if he saw before him that stern face 
that had thrown a blight over his life, and so 
fearfully avenged, from youth to age, the crime 
that he had committed. The effect, the passion, 
was too much, — the terror with which it smote, 
the rage that accompanied it, blazed up for a 
moment with a fierce flame, then flickered and 
went out. He stood tottering ; Redclyffe put 
out his hand to support him ; but he sank down 
in a heap on the floor, as if a thing of dry bones 
had been suddenly loosened at the joints, and 
fell in a rattling heap.^ 

368 


CHAPTER XXV 


R EDCLYFFE, apparently, had not com¬ 
municated to his agent in London his 
change of address, when he left the 
Warden’s residence to avail himself of the hos¬ 
pitality of Braithwaite Hall; for letters arrived 
for him, from his own country, both private and 
with the seal of state upon them; one among 
the rest that bore on the envelope the name of 
the President of the United States. The good 
Warden was impressed with great respect for so 
distinguished a signature, and, not knowing but 
that the welfare of the Republic (for which he 
had an Englishman’s contemptuous interest) 
might be involved in its early delivery at its de¬ 
stination, he determined to ride over to Braith¬ 
waite Hall, call on his friend, and deliver it with 
his own hand. With this purpose, he mounted 
his horse, at the hour of his usual morning ride, 
and set forth ; and, before reaching the village, 
saw a figure before him which he recognized as 
that of the pensioner.^ 

Soho! whither go you, old friend ? ” said 
the Warden, drawing his bridle as he came up 
with the old man. 

^^To Braithwaite Hall, sir,” said the pen- 

369 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


.sioner, who continued to walk diligently on; 
‘‘ and I am glad to see your honor (if it be so) 
on the same errand.” 

“Why so?” asked the Warden. “You 
seem much in earnest. Why should my visit 
to Braithwaite Hall be a special cause of rejoi¬ 
cing ? ” 

“ Nay,” said the pensioner, “ your honor is 
specially interested in this young American, 
who has gone thither to abide ; and when one 
is in a strange country he needs some guidance. 
My mind is not easy about the young man.” 

“ Well,” said the Warden, smiling to himself 
at the old gentleman's idle and senile fears, 
“ 1 commend your diligence on behalf of your 
friend.” 

He rode on as he spoke, and deep in one of 
the woodland paths he saw the flutter of a wo¬ 
man's garment, and, greatly to his surprise, over¬ 
took Elsie, who seemed to be walking along 
with great rapidity, and, startled by the approach 
of hoofs behind her, looked up at him, with a 
pale cheek. 

“ Good-morning, Miss Elsie,” said the War¬ 
den. “You are taking a long walk this morn¬ 
ing. I regret to see that I have frightened 
you.” 

“ Pray, whither are you going ? ” said she. 

“To the Hall,” said the Warden, wondering 
at the abrupt question. 

370 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


‘‘ Ah, sir,’’ exclaimed Elsie, “ for Heaven’s 
sake, pray insist on seeing Mr. RedclyfFe,— 
take no excuse ! There are reasons for it.” 

Certainly, fair lady,” responded the War¬ 
den, wondering more and more at this injunc¬ 
tion from such a source. “ And when I see this 
fascinating gentleman, pray what message am 
I to give him from Miss Elsie, — who, more¬ 
over, seems to be on the eve of visiting him in 
person ? ” 

‘‘ See him ! see him ! Only see him ! ” said 
Elsie, with passionate earnestness, “ and in haste! 
See him now ! ” 

She waved him onward as she spoke; and 
the Warden, greatly commoted for the nonce, 
complied with the maiden’s fantasy so far as to 
ride on at a quicker pace, uneasily marvelling 
at what could have aroused this usually shy 
and reserved girl’s nervousness to such a pitch. 
The incident served at all events to titillate his 
English sluggishness; so that he approached 
the avenue of the old Hall with a vague expec¬ 
tation of something that had happened there, 
though he knew not of what nature it could 
possibly be. However, he rode round to the 
side entrance, by which horsemen generally en¬ 
tered the house, and, a groom approaching to 
take his bridle, he alighted and approached the 
door. I know not whether it were anything 
more than the glistening moisture common in 

371 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


‘ an English autumnal morning; but so it was, 
that the trace of the Bloody Footstep seemed 
fresh, as if it had been that very night imprinted 
anew, and the crime made all over again, with 
fresh guilt upon somebody’s soul. 

When the footman came to the door, respon¬ 
sive to his ring, the Warden inquired for Mr. 
Redclyffe, the American gentleman. 

“ The American gentleman left for London 
early this morning,” replied the footman, in a 
matter-of-fact way. 

‘‘ Gone ! ” exclaimed the Warden. This is 
sudden ; and strange that he should go without 
saying good-by. Gone ! ” and then he remem¬ 
bered the old pensioner’s eagerness that the 
Warden should come here, and Elsie’s strange 
injunction that he should insist on seeing Red- 
clyffe. ‘‘ Pray, is Lord Braithwaite at home ? ” 
I think, sir, he is in the library,” said the 
servant, ‘‘ but will see ; pray, sir, walk in.” 

He returned in a moment, and ushered the 
Warden through passages with which he was 
familiar of old, to the library, where he found 
Lord Braithwaite sitting with the London news¬ 
paper in his hand. He rose and welcomed his 
guest with great equanimity. 

To the Warden’s inquiries after Redclyffe 
Lord Braithwaite replied that his guest had that 
morning left the house, being called to London 
by letters from America; but of what nature 

372 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

Lord Braithwaite was unable to say, except that 
they seemed to be of urgency and importance. 
The Warden’s further inquiries, which he pushed 
as far as was decorous, elicited nothing more 
than this ; and he was preparing to take his 
leave, not seeing any reason for insisting (ac¬ 
cording to Elsie’s desire) on the impossibility 
of seeing a man who was not there, — nor, 
indeed, any reason for so doing. And yet it 
seemed very strange that Redclyffe should have 
gone so unceremoniously *, nor was he half sat¬ 
isfied, though he knew not why he should be 
otherwise. 

‘‘ Do you happen to know Mr. Redclyffe’s 
address in London ? ” asked the Warden. 

“ Not at all,” said Braithwaite. “ But I pre¬ 
sume there is courtesy enough in the American 
character to impel him to write to me, or both 
of us, within a day or two, telling us of his 
whereabouts and whatabouts. Should you know, 
I beg you will let me know; for I have really 
been pleased with this gentleman, and should 
have been glad could he have favored me with 
a somewhat longer visit.” 

There was nothing more to be said ; and the 
Warden took his leave, and was about mount¬ 
ing his horse, when he beheld the pensioner ap¬ 
proaching the house, and he remained standing 
until he should come up. 

“ You are too late,” said he, as the old man 

37S 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


drew near. “ Our friend has taken French 
leave.’" 

Mr. Warden,” said the old man solemnly, 
‘Met me pray you not to give him up so easily. 
Come with me into the presence of Lord Braith- 
waite.” 

The Warden made some objections; but the 
pensioner’s manner was so earnest, that he soon 
consented ; knowing that the strangeness of his 
sudden return might well enough be put upon 
the eccentricities of the pensioner, especially as 
he was so well known to Lord Braithwaite. He 
accordingly again rang at the door, which being 
opened by the same stolid footman, the War¬ 
den desired him to announce to Lord Braithwaite 
that the Warden and a pensioner desired to see 
him. He soon returned, with a request that 
they would walk in, ,and ushered them again to 
the library, where they found the master of the 
house in conversation with Omskirk at one end 
of the apartment, — a whispered conversation, 
which detained him a moment, after their ar¬ 
rival. The Warden fancied that he saw in old 
Omskirk’s countenance a shade more of that 
mysterious horror which made him such a bug¬ 
bear to children ; but when Braithwaite turned 
from him and approached his visitors, there was 
no trace of any disturbance, beyond a natural 
surprise to see his good friend the Warden so 
soon after his taking leave.^ 

374 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


I see you are surprised,” said the latter. 
“ But you must lay the blame, if any, on our 
good old friend here, who, for some reason, best 
known to himself, insisted on having my com¬ 
pany here.” 

Braithwaite looked to the old pensioner, with 
a questioning look, as if good-humoredly (yet 
not as if he cared much about it) asking for an 
explanation. As Omskirk was about leaving the 
room, having remained till this time, with that 
nervous look which distinguished him gazing 
towards the party, the pensioner made him a 
sign, which he obeyed as if compelled to do so. 

“ Well, my friend,” said the Warden, some¬ 
what impatient of the aspect in which he him¬ 
self appeared, ‘‘ I beg of you, explain at once to 
Lord Braithwaite why you have brought me 
back in this strange way.” 

It is,” said the pensioner quietly, “ that in 
your presence I request him to allow me to see 
Mr. RedclyfFe.” 

“ Why, my friend,” said Braithwaite, ‘‘ how 
can I show you a man who has left my house, 
and whom, in the chances of this life, I am not 
very likely to see again, though hospitably de¬ 
sirous of so doing? ” 

Here ensued a laughing sort of colloquy be¬ 
tween the Warden and Braithwaite, in which 
the former jocosely excused himself for having 
yielded to the whim of the pensioner, and re- 
375 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


turned with him on an errand which he well 
knew to be futile. 

I have long been aware/' he said apart, in 
a confidential way, “ of something a little awry 
in our old friend's mental system. You will 
excuse him, and me for humoring him." 

“ Of course, of course," said Braithwaite, in 
the same tone. I shall not be moved by any¬ 
thing the old fellow can say." 

The old pensioner, meanwhile, had been, as it 
were, heating up, and gathering himself into a 
mood of energy which those who saw him had 
never before witnessed in his usually quiet per¬ 
son. He seemed somehow to grow taller and 
larger, more impressive. At length, fixing his 
eyes on Lord Braithwaite, he spoke again. 

‘‘ Dark, murderous man ! " exclaimed he. 
‘‘Your course has not been unwatched; the se¬ 
crets of this mansion are not unknown. For 
two centuries back they have been better known 
to them who dwell afar off than to those resi¬ 
dent within the mansion. The foot that made 
the Bloody Footstep has returned from its long 
wanderings, and it passes on, straight as destiny, 
— sure as an avenging Providence, — to the 
punishment and destruction of those who incur 
retribution." 

“ Here is an odd kind of tragedy," said Lord 
Braithwaite, with a scornful smile. “ Come, my 
old friend, lay aside this vein, and talk sense." 

37b 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


“ Not thus do you escape your penalty, hard¬ 
ened and crafty one !'' exclaimed the pensioner. 
‘‘ I demand of you, before this worthy Warden, 
access to the secret ways of this mansion, of 
which thou dost unjustly retain possession. I 
shall disclose what for centuries has remained 
hidden, — the ghastly secrets that this house 
hides.” 

“ Humor him,” whispered the Warden, “ and 
hereafter I will take care that the exuberance 
of our old friend shall be duly restrained. He 
shall not trouble you again.” 

Lord Braithwaite, to say the truth, appeared 
a little flabbergasted and disturbed by these latter 
expressions of the old gentleman. He hesitated, 
turned pale; but at last, recovering from his mo¬ 
mentary confusion and irresolution, he replied, 
with apparent carelessness : — 

‘‘ Go wherever you will, old gentleman. The 
house is open to you for this time. I fever you 
have another opportunity to disturb it, the fault 
will be mine.” 

“ Follow, sir,” said the pensioner, turning to 
the Warden; “ follow, maiden ! ^ Now shall a 
great mystery begin to be revealed.” 

So saying, he led the way before them, pass¬ 
ing out of the hall, not by the doorway, but 
through one of the oaken panels of the wall, 
which admitted the party into a passage which 
seemed to pass through the thickness of the wall, 
377 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 

and was lighted by interstices through which 
shone gleams of light. This led them into what 
looked like a little vestibule, or circular room, 
which the Warden, though deeming himself 
many years familiar with the old house, had 
never seen before, any more than the passage 
which led to it. To his surprise, this room was 
not vacant, for in it sat, in a large old chair, 
Omskirk, like a toad in its hole, like some wild, 
fearful creature in its den, and it was now partly 
understood how this man had the possibility of 
suddenly disappearing, so inscrutably, and so in 
a moment; and, when all quest for him was 
given up, of as suddenly appearing again. 

“ Ha ! ” said old Omskirk, slowly rising, as 
at the approach of some event that he had long 
expected. “ Is he coming at last? ” 

Poor victim of another’s iniquity,” said 
the pensioner. ‘‘ Thy release approaches. Re¬ 
joice! ” 

The old man arose with a sort of trepidation 
and solemn joy intermixed in his manner, and 
bowed reverently, as if'there were in what he 
heard more than other ears could understand 
in it. 

‘‘ Yes ; I have waited long,” replied he. 
“ Welcome, if'my release is come.” 

‘‘ Well,” said Lord Braithwaite scornfully. 

This secret retreat of my house is known to 
many. It was the priest’s secret chamber when 

378 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE’S SECRET 


it was dangerous to be of the old and true re¬ 
ligion, here in England. There is no longer 
any use in concealing this place ; and the War¬ 
den, or any man, might have seen it, or any of 
the curiosities of the old hereditary house, if 
desirous so to do.” 

“ Aha ! son of Belial! ” quoth the pensioner. 
“ And this, too ! ” 

He took three paces from a certain point of 
the wall, which he seemed to know, and stooped 
to press upon the floor. The Warden looked 
at Lord Braithwaite, and saw that he had grown 
deadly pale. What his change of cheer might 
bode, he could not guess; but, at the pressure 
of the old pensioner's finger, the floor, or a seg¬ 
ment of it, rose like the lid of a box, and dis¬ 
covered a small darksome pair of stairs, within 
which burned a lamp, lighting it downward, like 
the steps that descend into a sepulchre. 

“ Follow,” said he to those who looked on, 
wondering. 

And he began to descend. Lord Braithwaite 
saw him disappear, then frantically followed, the 
Warden next, and old Omskirk took his place 
in the rear, like a man following his inevitable 
destiny. At the bottom of a winding descent, 
that seemed deep and remote, and far within, 
they came to a door, which the pensioner pressed 
with a spring; and, passing through the space 
that disclosed itself, the whole party followed, 
379 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWFS SECRET 


and found themselves in a small, gloomy room. 
On one side of it was a couch, on which sat 
RedclyfFe ; face to face with him was a white- 
haired figure in a chair. 

“ You are come !said Redclyffe solemnly. 
‘‘ But too late ! ” 

‘‘And yonder is the coffer,'' said the pen¬ 
sioner. “ Open but that, and our quest is 
ended." 

“ That, if I mistake not, I can do," said Red¬ 
clyffe. 

He drew forth — what he had kept all this 
time, as something that might yet reveal to him 
the mystery of his birth — the silver key that 
had been found by the grave in far New Eng¬ 
land ; and applying it to the lock, he slowly 
turned it on the hinges, that had not been turned 
for two hundred years. All — even Lord Braith- 
waite, guilty and shame-stricken as he felt — 
pressed forward to look upon what was about 
to be disclosed. What were the wondrous con¬ 
tents ? The entire, mysterious coffer was full 
of golden ringlets, abundant, clustering through 
the whole coffer, and living with elasticity, so as 
immediately, as it were, to flow over the sides 
of the coffer, and rise in large abundance from 
the long compression. Into this — by a mir¬ 
acle of natural production which was known like¬ 
wise in other cases — into this had been re¬ 
solved the whole bodily substance of that fair 
380 


DOCTOR GRIMSHAWE^S SECRET 


and unfortunate being, known so long in the 
legends of the family as the Beauty of the 
Golden Locks. As the pensioner looked at this 
strange sight, — the lustre of the precious and 
miraculous hair gleaming and glistening, and 
seeming to add light to the gloomy room, — 
he took from his breast pocket another lock of 
hair, in a locket, and compared it, before their 
faces, with that which brimmed over from the 
coffer. 

“ It is the same!'' said he. 

And who are you that know it ? asked 
Redclyffe, surprised. 

He whose ancestors taught him the secret, 
— who has had it handed down to him these 
two centuries, and now only with regret yields 
to the necessity of making it known.’* 

“You are the heir ! ” said Redclyffe. 

In that gloomy room, beside the dead old 
man, they looked at him, and saw a dignity 
beaming on him, covering his whole figure, that 
broke out like a lustre at the close of day. 

381 


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NOTES 


CHAPTER I 

1. The MS. gives the following alternative open¬ 
ings : “ Early in the present century; ” “ Soon after 
the Revolution;” “Many years ago.” 

2. Throughout the first four pages of the MS. the 
Doctor is called “Ormskirk,” and in an earlier draft 
of this portion of the romance, “ Etheredge.” 

3. Author s note. — “Crusty Hannah is a mixture 
of Indian and negro.” 

4. Author''s note. — “ It is understood from the first 
that the children are not brother and sister. — Describe 
the children with really childish traits, quarrelling, be¬ 
ing naughty, etc. — The Doctor should occasionally 
beat Ned in course of instruction.” 

5. In order to show the manner in which Haw¬ 
thorne would modify a passage, which was neverthe¬ 
less to be left substantially the same, I subjoin here a 
description of this graveyard as it appears in the earlier 
draft : “ The graveyard (we are sorry to have to treat 
of such a disagreeable piece of ground, but everybody's 
business centres there at one time or another) was the 
most ancient in the town. The dust of the original 
Englishmen had become incorporated with the soil; of 
those Englishmen whose immediate predecessors had 
been resolved into the earth about the country churches, 
— the little Norman, square, battlemented stone towers 

383 


NOTES 


of the villages in the old land; so that in this point of 
view, as holding bones and dust of the first ancestors, 
this graveyard was more English than anything else in 
town. There had been hidden from sight many a 
broad, bluff visage of husbandmen that had ploughed 
the real English soil; there the faces of noted men, 
now known in history; there many a personage whom 
tradition told about, making wondrous qualities of 
strength and courage for him; — all these, mingled 
with succeeding generations, turned up and battened 
down again with the sexton's spade; until every blade 
of grass was human more than vegetable, — for an 
hundred and fifty years will do this, and so much time, 
at least, had elapsed since the first little mound was 
piled up in the virgin soil. Old tombs there were, too, 
with numerous sculptures on them, and quaint, mossy 
gravestones; although all kinds of monumental ap¬ 
pendages were of a date more recent than the time of 
the first settlers, who had been content with wooden 
memorials, if any, the sculptor's art not having then 
reached New England. Thus rippled, surged, broke 
almost against the house, this dreary graveyard, which 
made the street gloomy, so that people did not like to 
pass the dark, high wooden fence, with its closed gate, 
that separated it from the street. And this old house 
was one that crowded upon it, and took up the ground 
that would otherwise have been sown as thickly with 
dead as the rest of the lot; so that it seemed hardly 
possible but that the dead people should get up out of 
their graves, and come in there to warm themselves. 
But, in truth, I have never heard a whisper of its being 
haunted." 


384 


i 


NOTES 

6. Author^s note. — “The spiders are affected by 
the weather and serve as barometers. — It shall always 
be a moot point whether the Doctor really believed in 
cobwebs, or was laughing at the credulous.” 

7. Author's note, —“The townspeople are at war 
with the Doctor. — Introduce the Doctor early as a 
smoker, and describe. — The result of Crusty Hannah’s 
strangely mixed breed should be shown in some strange 
way. — Give vivid pictures of the society of the day, 
symbolized in the street scenes.” 

CHAPTER II 

1. Author's note, — “ Read the whole paragraph be¬ 
fore copying any of it.” 

2. Author's note, — “Crusty Hannah teaches Elsie 
curious needlework, etc.” 

3. These two children are described as follows in 
an early note of the author’s: “ The boy had all the 
qualities fitted to excite tenderness in those who had 
the care of him; in the first and most evident place, 
on account of his personal beauty, which was very re¬ 
markable,— the most intelligent and expressive face 
that can be conceived, changing in those early years 
like an April day, and beautiful in all its changes; dark, 
but of a soft expression, kindling, melting, glowing, 
laughing; a varied intelligence, which it was as good as 
a book to read. He was quick in all modes of mental 
exercise; quick and strong, too, in sensibility; proud, 
and gifted (probably by the circumstances in which he 
was placed) with an energy which the softness and im¬ 
pressibility of his nature needed. — As for the little 
girl, all the squalor of the abode served but to set off 

385 


NOTES 


her lightsomeness and brightsomeness. She was a pale, 
large-eyed little thing, and it might have been supposed 
that the air of the house and the contiguity of the burial 
place had a bad effect upon her health. Yet I hardly 
think this could have been the case, for she was of a 
very airy nature, dancing and sporting through the house 
as if melancholy had never been made. She took all 
kinds of childish liberties with the Doctor, and with 
his pipe, and with everything appertaining to him ex¬ 
cept his spiders and his cobwebs.’’ — All of which goes 
to show that Hawthorne first conceived his characters 
in the mood of the Twice-Told Tales, and then by 
meditation solidified them to the inimitable flesh and 
blood of The House of the Seven Gables and The 
Blithedale Romance. 

CHAPTER III 

1. An English church spire, evidently the proto¬ 
type of this, and concerning which the same legend is 
told, is mentioned in the author’s English Note-Books. 

2. Leicester Hospital, in Warwick, described in 
Our Old Home, is the original of this charity. 

3. Author*s note .—“The children find a grave¬ 
stone with something like a footprint on it.” 

4. Author's note. — “Put into the Doctor’s char¬ 
acter a continual enmity against somebody, breaking 
out in curses of which nobody can understand the ap¬ 
plication.” 

CHAPTER IV 

I. The Doctor’s propensity for cobwebs is ampli¬ 
fied in the following note for an earlier and somewhat 
386 


NOTES 


milder version of the character : “ According to him, 
all science was to be renewed and established on a sure 
ground by no other means than cobwebs. The cob¬ 
web was the magic clue by which mankind was to be 
rescued from all its errors, and guided safely back to 
the right. And so he cherished spiders above all things, 
and kept them spinning, spinning away; the only textile 
factory that existed at that epoch in New England. 
He distinguished the production of each of his ugly 
friends, and assigned peculiar qualities to each; and he 
had been for years engaged in writing a work on this new 
discovery, in reference to which he had already com¬ 
piled a great deal of folio manuscript, and had unguessed- 
at resources still to come. With this suggestive sub¬ 
ject he interwove all imaginable learning, collected 
from his own library, rich in works that few others 
had read, and from that of his beloved University, 
crabbed with Greek, rich with Latin, drawing into 
itself, like a whirlpool, all that men had thought hith¬ 
erto, and combining them anew in such a way that it 
had all the charm of a racy originality. Then he had 
projects for the cultivation of cobwebs, to which end, 
in the good Doctor’s opinion, it seemed desirable to 
devote a certain part of the national income; and not 
content with this, all public-spirited citizens would 
probably be induced to devote as much of their time 
and means as they could to the same end. According 
to him, there was no such beautiful festoon and drapery 
for the halls of princes as the spinning of this hereto¬ 
fore despised and hated insect; and by due encourage¬ 
ment it might be hoped that they would flourish, and 
hang and dangle and wave triumphant in the breeze. 


NOTES 


to an extent as yet generally undreamed of. And he 
lamented much the destruction that has heretofore 
been wrought upon this precious fabric by the house¬ 
maid’s broom, and insisted upon by foolish women who 
claimed to be good housewives. Indeed, it was the 
general opinion that the Doctor’s celibacy was in great 
measure due to the impossibility of finding a woman 
who would pledge herself to cooperate with him in 
this great ambition of his life, — that of reducing the 
world to a cobweb factory ; or who would bind herself 
to let her own drawing-room be ornamented with this 
kind of tapestry. But there never was a wife precisely 
fitted for our friend the Doctor, unless it had been 
Arachne herself, to whom, if she could again have been 
restored to her female shape, he would doubtless have 
lost no time in paying his addresses. It was doubtless 
the having dwelt too long among the musty and dusty 
clutter and litter of things gone by, that made the 
Doctor almost a monomaniac on this subject. There 
were cobwebs in his own brain, and so he saw nothing 
valuable but cobwebs in the world around him; and 
deemed that the march of created things, up to this 
time, had been calculated by foreknowledge to produce 
them.” 

2 . Author's note, — “Ned must learn something of 
the characteristics of the Catechism, and simple cottage 
devotion.” 

CHAPTER V 

1. Author^s note, — “Make the following scene 
emblematic of the world’s treatment of a dissenter.” 

2 . Author's note, — “ Yankee characteristics should 
be shown in the schoolmaster’s manners.” 

388 


NOTES 


CHAPTER VI 

1. Authors note, —“He had a sort of horror of 
violence, and of the strangeness that it should be done 
to him; this affected him more than the blow.” 

2 . Author"*s note, —“Jokes occasionally about the 
schoolmaster’s thinness and lightness, — how he might 
suspend himself from the spider’s web and swing, etc.” 

3. Author*s note, — “The Doctor and the school¬ 
master should have much talk about England.” 

4. Author*s note, — “The children were at play in 
the churchyard.” 

5. Author*s note, — “He mentions that he was 
probably buried in the churchyard there.” 

CHAPTER VII 

1. Author*s note, — “Perhaps put this narratively, 
not as spoken.” 

2. Author*s note, — “He was privately married to 
the heiress, if she were an heiress. They meant to 
kill him in the wood, but, by contrivance, he was kid¬ 
napped.” 

3. Author*s note. — “ They were privately married.” 

4. Author*s note. — “Old descriptive letters, refer¬ 
ring to localities as they existed.” 

5. Author*5 note, — “There should be symbols and 
tokens, hinting at the schoolmaster’s disappearance, 
from the first opening of the scene.” 

CHAPTER VIII 

I. Author* s note. — “They had got up in remarka¬ 
bly good case that morning.” 

389 


NOTES 


2 . Author*s note, — “The stranger may be the fu¬ 
ture master of the Hospital. — Describe the winter 
day.” 

3. Author's note. — “Describe him as clerical.” 

4. Author's note, — “Represent him as a refined, 
agreeable, genial young man, of frank, kindly, gentle¬ 
manly manners.” 

5. Alternative reading: “A clergyman.” 

CHAPTER IX 

1. Author's note. — “Make the old grave-digger a 
laudator temporis acti^ — especially as to burial customs.” 

2. Instead of “ written,” as in the text, the author 
probably meant to write “ read.” 

3. The MS. has “delight,” but “a light” is evi¬ 
dently intended. 

4. Author's note. — “ He aims a blow, perhaps with 
his pipe, at the boy, which Ned wards off.” 

CHAPTER X 

1. Author's note, — “ No longer could play at quar- 
terstalF with Ned.” 

2. Author's note. — “ Referring to places and peo¬ 
ple in England: the Bloody Footstep sometimes.” 

3. In the original the following occurs, but marked 
to indicate that it was to be omitted : “ And kissed his 
hand to her, and laughed feebly; and that was the last 
that she or anybody, the last glimpse they had of Doc¬ 
tor Grimshawe alive.” 

4. Author's notes. — “A great deal must be made 
out of the spiders, and their gloomy, dusky, flaunting 

390 


NOTES 


tapestry. A web across the orifice of his inkstand 
every morning; everywhere, indeed, except across the 
snout of his brandy bottle. — Depict the Doctor in an 
old dressing gown, and a strange sort of a cap, like a 
wizard’s. — The two children are witnesses of many 
strange experiments in the study; they see his moods, 
too. — The Doctor is supposed to be writing a work 
on the Natural History of Spiders. Perhaps he used 
them as a blind for his real project, and used to bam¬ 
boozle the learned with pretending to read them pas¬ 
sages in which great learning seemed to be elaborately 
worked up, crabbed with Greek and Latin, as if the 
topic drew into itself, like a whirlpool, all that men 
thought and knew; plans to cultivate cobwebs on a 
large scale. Sometimes, after overwhelming them with 
astonishment in this way, he would burst into one of 
his laughs. Schemes to make the world a cobweb 
factory, etc., etc. Cobwebs in his own brain. — Crusty 
Hannah such a mixture of persons and races as could 
be found only at a seaport. There was a rumor that 
the Doctor had murdered a former maid, for having, 
with housewifely instinct, swept away the cobwebs; 
some said that he had her skeleton in a closet. Some 
said that he had strangled a wife with web of the great 
spider. — Read the description of Bolton Hall, the 
garden, lawn, etc., Aug. 8, ’53. — Bebbington church 
and churchyard, Aug. 29, ’53. — The Doctor is able 
to love, — able to hate; two great and rare abilities 
nowadays. — Introduce two pine-trees, ivy-grown, as at 
Lowwood Hotel, July 16,’58. — The family name 
might be RedclyfFe.—Thatched cottage, June 22, ’55. 

391 


NOTES 


— Early introduce the mention of the cognizance of 
the family, — the Leopard’s Head, for instance, in the 
first part of the romance; the Doctor may have pos¬ 
sessed it engraved as coat of arms in a book. — The 
Doctor shall show Ned, perhaps, a drawing or engrav¬ 
ing of the Hospital, with figures of the pensioners in the 
quadrangle, fitly dressed; and this picture and the fig¬ 
ures shall impress themselves strongly on his memory.” 

The above dates and places refer to passages in the 
published English Note-Books. 

CHAPTER XI 

1. Author's note. — “Compare it with Spenser’s 
Cave of Despair. Put instruments of suicide there.” 

2. Author's note. — “ Once, in looking at the man¬ 
sion, Redclyffe is struck by the appearance of a marble 
inserted into the wall, and kept clear of lichens.” 

3. Author's note. — “Describe, in rich poetry, all 
shapes of deadly things.” 

CHAPTER XII 

1. Author's note. — “‘Conferred their best quali¬ 
ties : ’ an alternative phrase for ‘ done their utmost.” 

2. Author' note. — “ Let the old man have a beard 
as part of the costume.” 

CHAPTER XIII 

1. Author's note. — “ Describe him as delirious, and 
the scene as adopted into his delirium.” 

2. Author s note. — “Make the whole scene very 
dreamlike and feverish.” 

3. Author's note. — “ There should be a slight wild- 

392 


NOTES 


ness in the patient’s remark to the surgeon, which he 
cannot prevent, though he is conscious of it.” 

4. Author*s note. — “Notice the peculiar depth and 
intelligence of his eyes, on account of his pain and 
sickness.” 

5. Author*5 note. — “ Perhaps the recognition of the 
pensioner should not be so decided. RedclylFe thinks 
it is he, but thinks it as in a dream, without wonder or 
inquiry ; and the pensioner does not quite acknowledge 
it.” 

6. The following dialogue is marked to be omitted 
or modified in the original MS.; but it is retained here, 
in order that the thread of the narrative may not be 
broken. 

7. Author*s note. — “ The patient, as he gets better, 
listens to the feet of old people moving in corridors ; to 
the ringing of a bell at stated periods; to old, tremu¬ 
lous voices talking in the quadrangle; etc., etc.” 

8. At this point the modification indicated in Note 
5 seems to have been made operative, and the recog¬ 
nition takes place in another way. 

CHAPTER XIV 

1. This paragraph is left incomplete in the original 

MS. 

2. The words “ Rich old bindings” are interlined 
here, indicating, perhaps, a purpose to give a more de¬ 
tailed description of the library and its contents. 

CHAPTER XV 

I. Author*s note. — “I think it shall be built of 
stone, however.” 


393 


NOTES 


2. This probably refers to some incident which 
the author intended to incorporate in the former por¬ 
tion of the romance, on a final revision. 

CHAPTER XVI 

I. Several passages, which are essentially repro¬ 
ductions of what had been previously treated, are 
omitted from this chapter. It belongs to an earlier 
version of the romance. 

CHAPTER XVII 

1. Author*s note, — “ Reddyffe shows how to find, 
under the surface of the village green, an old cross.” 

2. Author*s note. — ‘‘A circular seat around the 
tree.” 

3. The reader now hears for the first time what 
RedclyfFe recollected. 

CHAPTER XVIII 

1. Author*s note, — “The dinner is given to the 
pensioners, as well as to the gentry, I think.” 

2. Author*5 note. — “For example, a story of three 
brothers, who had a deadly quarrel among them more 
than two hundred years ago for the affections of a 
young lady, their cousin, who gave her reciprocal love 
to one of them, who immediately became the object of 
the deadly hatred of the two others. There seemed 
to be madness in their love, — perhaps madness in the 
love of all three; for the result had been a plot to kid¬ 
nap this unfortunate young man and convey him to 
America, where he was sold for a servant.” 

394 


NOTES 


CHAPTER XIX 

I. The following passage, though it seems to fit 
in here chronologically, is concerned with a side issue 
which was not followed up. The author was experi¬ 
menting for a character to act as the accomplice of 
Lord Braithwaite at the Hall; and he makes trial of 
the present personage, Mountford; of an Italian priest. 
Father Angelo; and finally, of the steward, Omskirk, 
who is adopted. It will be noticed that Mountford is 
here endowed (for the moment) with the birthright of 
good Doctor Hammond, the Warden. He is repre¬ 
sented as having made the journey to America in search 
of the grave. This alteration being inconsistent with 
the true thread of the story, and being, moreover, not 
continued, I have placed this passage in the Notes in¬ 
stead of in the text. 

Redclyffe often, in the dim weather, when the 
prophetic intimations of rain were too strong to allow 
an American to walk abroad with peace of mind, was 
in the habit of pacing this noble hall, and watching the 
process of renewal and adornment; or, which suited 
him still better, of enjoying its great, deep solitude when 
the workmen were away. Parties of visitors, curious 
tourists, sometimes peeped in, took a cursory glimpse 
at the old hall, and went away: these were the only 
ordinary disturbances. But, one day, a person entered, 
looked carelessly round the hall, as if its antiquity had 
no great charm to him; then he seemed to approach 
Redclyffe, who stood far and dim in the remote distance 
395 


NOTES 


of the great room. The echoing of feet on the stone 
pavement of the hall had always an impressive sound, 
and turning his head towards the visitant Edward stood 
as if there were an expectance for him in this approach. 
It was a middle-aged man, — rather, a man towards 
fifty, with an alert, capable air; a man evidently with 
something to do in life, and not in the habit of throw¬ 
ing away his moments in looking at old halls ; a gentle¬ 
manly man enough, too. He approached RedclyiFe 
without hesitation, and, lifting his hat, addressed him 
in a way that made Edward wonder whether he could 
be an Englishman. If so, he must have known that 
Edward was an American, and have been trying to 
adapt his manners to those of a democratic free¬ 
dom. 

“Mr. RedclyfFe, I believe,” said he. 

Redclyffe bowed, with the stiff caution of an English¬ 
man ; for, with American mobility, he had learned to 
be stiff*. 

“ I think I have had the pleasure of knowing — at 
least of meeting — you very long ago,” said the gentle¬ 
man. “ But I see you do not recollect me.” 

Redclyffe confessed that the stranger had the advan¬ 
tage of him in his recollection of a previous acquaint¬ 
ance. 

“No wonder,” said the other, “ for, as I have already 
hinted, it was many years ago.” 

“ In my own country, then, of course,” said Red- 
clyfFe. 

“ In your own country certainly,” said the stranger, 
“ and when it would have required a penetrating eye 
to see the distinguished Mr. Redclyffe, the representa- 

396 


NOTES 


tive of American democracy abroad, in the little pale- 
faced, intelligent boy, dwelling with an old humorist in 
the corner of a graveyard.” 

At these words RedclyfFe sent back his recollections, 
and, though doubtfully, began to be aware that this 
must needs be the young Englishman who had come to 
his guardian on such a singular errand as to search an 
old grave. It must be he, for it could be nobody else; 
and, in truth, he had a sense of his identity, — which, 
however, did not express itself by anything that he 
could confidently remember in his looks, manner, or 
voice, —- yet, if anything, it was most in the voice. But 
the image which, on searching, he found in his mind of 
a fresh-colored young Englishman, with light hair and a 
frank, pleasant face, was terribly realized for the worse 
in this somewhat heavy figure, and coarser face, and 
heavier eye. In fact, there is a terrible difference be¬ 
tween the mature Englishman and the young man who 
is not yet quite out of his blossom. His hair, too, was 
getting streaked and sprinkled with gray; and, in short, 
there were evident marks of his having worked, and 
succeeded, and failed, and eaten and drunk, and being 
made largely of beef, ale, port, and sherry, and all the 
solidities of English life. 

“ I remember you now,” said RedclyfFe, extending 
his hand frankly ; and yet Mountford took it in so cold 
a way that he was immediately sorry that he had done 
it, and called up an extra portion of reserve to freeze 
the rest of the interview. He continued, coolly enough: 
“I remember you, and something of your American 
errand, — which, indeed, has frequently been in my 
mind since. I hope you found the results of your 
397 


NOTES 


voyage, in the way of discovery, sufficiently successful 
to justify so much trouble.” 

“You will remember,” said Mountford, “that the 
grave proved quite unproductive. Yes, you will not 
have forgotten it; for I well recollect how eagerly you 
listened, with that queer little girl, to my talk with the 
old governor, and how disappointed you seemed when 
you found that the grave was not to be opened. And 
yet, it is very odd. I failed in that mission ; and yet 
there are circumstances that have led me to think that 
I ought to have succeeded better, — that some other 
person has really succeeded better.” 

Redclyffe was silent; but he remembered the strange 
old silver key, and how he had kept it secret, and the 
doubts that had troubled his mind then and long after¬ 
wards, whether he ought not to have found means 
to convey it to the stranger, and ask whether that was 
what he sought. And now here was that same doubt 
and question coming up again, and he found himself 
quite as little able to solve it as he had been twenty 
years ago. Indeed, with the views that had come up 
since, it behooved him to be cautious, until he knew 
both the man and the circumstances. 

“You are probably aware,” continued Mountford, 
— “ for I understand you have been some time in this 
neighborhood, — that there is a pretended claim, a con¬ 
testing claim, to the present possession of the estate 
of Braithwaite, and a long dormant title. Possibly — 
who knows ? — you yourself might have a claim to 
one or the other. Would not that be a singular co¬ 
incidence ? Have you ever had the curiosity to inves¬ 
tigate your parentage with a view to this point ? ” 

398 


NOTES 


“ The title,” replied RedclyfFe, “ ought not to be a 
very strong consideration with an American. One of 
us would be ashamed, I verily believe, to assume any 
distinction, except such as may be supposed to indicate 
personal, not hereditary merit. We have in some 
measure, I think, lost the feeling of the past, and even 
of the future, as regards our own lines of descent; and 
even as to wealth, it seems to me that the idea of heap¬ 
ing up a pile of gold, or accumulating a broad estate 
for our children and remoter descendants, is dying out. 
We wish to enjoy the fulness of our success in life 
ourselves, and leave to those who descend from us the 
task of providing for themselves. This tendency is 
seen in our lavish expenditure and the whole arrange¬ 
ment of our lives; and it is slowly — yet not very 
slowly, either — effecting a change in the whole 
economy of American life.” 

“ Still,” rejoined Mr. Mountford, with a smile that 
RedclyfFe fancied was dark and subtle, “ still, I should 
imagine that even an American might recall so much of 
hereditary prejudice as to be sensible of some earthly 
advantages in the possession of an ancient title and 
hereditary estate like this. Personal distinction may 
suit you better, — to be an Ambassador by your own 
talent; to have a future for yourself, involving the 
possibility of ranking (though it were only for four 
years) among the acknowledged sovereigns of the earth; 

_this is very good. But if the silver key would open 

the shut-up secret to-day, it might be possible that you 
would relinquish these advantages.” 

Before RedclyfFe could reply (and, indeed, there 
seemed to be an allusion at the close of Mountford's 
399 


NOTES 


speech which, whether intended or not, he knew not 
how to reply to) a young lady entered the hall, whom 
he was at no loss, by the colored light of a painted 
window that fell upon her, translating her out of the 
common daylight, to recognize as the relative of the 
pensioner. She seemed to have come to give her fanciful 
superintendence to some of the decorations of the hall; 
such as required woman’s taste, rather than the sturdy 
English judgment and antiquarian knowledge of the 
Warden. Slowly following after her came the pen¬ 
sioner himself, leaning on his staff, and looking up at 
the old roof and around him with a benign composure, 
and himself a fitting figure by his antique and venerable 
appearance to walk in that old hall. 

“Ah!” said Mountford, to Redclyffe’s surprise, 
“ here is an acquaintance, two acquaintances of mine.” 

He moved along the hall to accost them ; and as he 
appeared to expect that Redclyffe would still keep him 
company, and as the latter had no reason for not doing 
so, they both advanced to the pensioner, who was now 
leaning on the young woman’s arm. The incident, 
too, was not unacceptable to the American, as promis¬ 
ing to bring him into a more available relation with 
her — whom he half fancied to be his old American 
acquaintance — than he had yet succeeded in obtaining. 

“Well, my old friend,” said Mountford, after bowing 
with a certain measured respect to the young woman, 
“how wears life with you ? Rather, perhaps, it does 
not wear at all; you being so well suited to the life 
around you, you grow by it like a lichen on a wall. I 
could fancy now that you have walked here for three 
hundred years, and remember when King James of 
400 


NOTES 


blessed memory was entertained in this hall, and could 
marshal out all the ceremonies just as they were then.” 

“ An old man,” said the pensioner quietly, “ grows 
dreamy as he wanes away ; and I, too, am sometimes 
at a loss to know whether I am living in the past or 
the present, or whereabouts in time I am, — or whether 
there is any time at all. But I should think it hardly 
worth while to call up one of my shifting dreams more 
than another.” 

“ I confess,” said RedclyfFe, “ I shall find it im¬ 
possible to call up this scene — any of these scenes — 
hereafter, without the venerable figure of this, whom I 
may truly call my benefactor, among them, I fancy 
him among them from the foundation, — young then, 
but keeping just the equal step with their age and decay, 
— and still doing good and hospitable deeds to those 
who need them.” 

The old man seemed not to like to hear these remarks 
and expressions of gratitude from Mountford and the 
American ; at any rate, he moved away with his slow 
and light motion of infirmity, but then came uneasily 
back, displaying a certain quiet restlessness, which Red¬ 
dy ffe was sympathetic enough to perceive. Not so the 
sturdier, more heavily moulded Englishman, who con¬ 
tinued to direct the conversation upon the pensioner, 
or at least to make him a part of it, thereby bringing out 
more of his strange characteristics. In truth, it is not 
quite easy for an Englishman to know how to adapt 
himself tathe fine feelings of those below him in point 
of station, whatever gentlemanly deference he may have 
for his equals or superiors. 

“ I should like now, father pensioner,” said he, to 
401 


NOTES 


know how many steps you may have taken in life 
before your path led into this hole, and whence your 
course started.” 

“ Do not let him speak thus to the old man,” said 
the young woman, in a low, earnest tone, to RedclyfFe. 
He was surprised and startled; it seemed like a voice 
that had spoken to his boyhood. 

2. Author's note. — “ RedclylFe’s place is next to 
that of the proprietor at table.” 

3. Author's note. — “ Dwell upon the antique liv¬ 
eried servants somewhat.” 

4. Author's note. — “ The rose-water must precede 
the toasts.” 

5. Author's note. — “ The jollity of the Warden at 
the feast to be noticed; and afterwards explain that he 
had drunk nothing.” 

6. Author's note. — “ Mention the old silver snuff¬ 
box which I saw at the Liverpool Mayor’s dinner.” 

CHAPTER XX 

1. This is not the version of the story as indicated 
in the earlier portion of the romance. It is there 
implied that Elsie is the Doctor’s granddaughter, her 
mother having been the Doctor’s daughter, who was 
ruined by the then possessor of the Braithwaite estates, 
and who died in consequence. That the Doctor’s 
scheme of revenge was far deeper and more terrible 
than simply to oust the family from its possessions will 
appear further on. 

2. The foregoing passage was evidently experi¬ 
mental, and the author expresses his estimate of its 

402 


NOTES 


value in the following words, — “ What unimaginable 
nonsense! ” He then goes on to make the following 
memoranda as to the plot. It should be remembered, 
however, that all this part of the romance was written 
before the American part. 

‘‘ Half of a secret is preserved in England,— that is 
to say, in the particular part of the mansion in which 
an old coffer is hidden; the other part is carried to 
America. One key of an elaborate lock is retained in 
England, among some old curiosities of forgotten pur¬ 
pose ; the other is the silver key that Redclyffe found 
beside the grave. A treasure of gold is what they ex¬ 
pect ; they find a treasure of golden locks. This lady, 
the beloved of the Bloody Footstep, had been murdered 
and hidden in the coffer on account of jealousy. Elsie 
must know the baselessness of Redclyffe’s claims, and 
be loath to tell him, because she sees that he is so much 
interested in them. She has a paper of the old Doc¬ 
tor’s revealing the whole plot, — a deathbed confes¬ 
sion ; Redclyffe having been absent at the time.” 

The reader will recollect that this latter suggestion 
was not adopted : there was no deathbed confession. 
As regards the coffer full of golden locks, it was sug¬ 
gested by an incident recorded in the English Note- 
Books, 1854. ‘‘The grandmother of Mrs. O’Sulli¬ 
van died fifty years ago, at the age of twenty-eight. 
She had great personal charms, and among them a head 
of beautiful chestnut hair. After her burial in a fam¬ 
ily tomb, the coffin of one of her children was laid on 
her own, so that the lid seems to have decayed, or been 
broken from this cause ; at any rate, this was the case 
when the tomb was opened, about a year ago. The 

403 


NOTES 


grandmother’s coffin was then found to be filled with 
beautiful, glossy, living chestnut ringlets, into which 
her whole substance seems to have been transformed, 
for there was nothing else but these shining curls, the 
growth of half a century, in the tomb. An old man, 
with a ringlet of his youthful mistress treasured in his 
heart, might be supposed to witness this wonderful 
thing.” 

CHAPTER XXIII 

I. In a study of the plot, too long to insert here, 
this new character of the steward is introduced and 
described. It must suffice to say, in this place, that 
he was intimately connected with Doctor Grimshawe, 
who had resuscitated him after he had been hanged, and 
had thus gained his gratitude and secured his implicit 
obedience to his wishes, even twenty years after his 
(Grimshawe’s) death. The use the Doctor made of 
him was to establish him in Braithwaite Hall as the 
perpetual confidential servant of the owners thereof. 
Of course, the latter are not aware that the steward is 
acting in Grimshawe’s interest, and therefore in deadly 
opposition to their own. Precisely what the steward’s 
mission in life was will appear hereafter. 

The study above alluded to, with others, amounting 
to about a hundred pages, will be published as a sup¬ 
plement to a future edition of this work. 

CHAPTER XXIV 

I. Author's note. — “ Reddyffe lies in a dreamy 
state, thinking fantastically, as if he were one of the 
seven sleepers. He does not yet open his eyes, but 
lies there in a maze.” 


404 


NOTES 


2. Author*s note. — ‘‘ Redclyffe must look at the 
old man quietly and dreamily, and without surprise, 
for a long while.” 

3. Presumably the true name of Doctor Grim- 
shawe. 

4. This mysterious prisoner. Sir Edward Red¬ 
clyffe, is not, of course, the Sir Edward who founded 
the Hospital, but a descendant of that man, who ruined 
Doctor Grimshawe’s daughter, and is the father of 
Elsie. He had been confined in this chamber, by the 
Doctor’s contrivance, ever since, Omskirk being his 
jailer, as is foreshadowed in Chapter XL He has 
been kept in the belief that he killed Grimshawe, in a 
struggle that took place between them; and that his 
confinement in the secret chamber is voluntary on his 
own part, — a measure of precaution to prevent arrest 
and execution for murder. In this miserable delusion 
he has cowered there for five and thirty years. This 
and various other dusky points are partly elucidated in 
the notes hereafter to be appended to this volume. 

CHAPTER XXV 

1. At this point, the author, for what reason I will 
not venture to surmise, chooses to append this gloss : 
“ Bubble-and-Squeak! ” 

2. Author*s note. — “ They found him in the hall, 
about to go out.” 

3. Elsie appears to have joined the party. 

405 


ElectrotyP«d and printed by H. O. Houghton &* Co, 
Cambridge, Mass., U, S. A, 





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